


Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar 1 thru 20

by thebasement_archivist



Category: Mission: Impossible, The X-Files
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-12-31
Updated: 2001-12-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 12:44:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 55,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Ethan Hunt is assigned to infiltrate a Colombian drug czar's organization, by posing as an American drug trafficker. He must be accompanied by an agent to pose as his lover, but none of the IM force meet the requirements. FBI agent Fox Mulder is determined to be the perfect candidate.





	Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar 1 thru 20

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar by Scribe

Title: Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar  
Author: Scribe  
Fandom: Mission: Impossible/X Files crossover  
Paring: Ethan Hunt/Fox Mulder  
Rating: NC-17  
Status: WIP  
Archive: If you wish. Tell me where.  
Feedback:   
Series/Sequel: Not at present  
Disclaimers: I own neither Ethan Hunt, Fox Mulder, nor the X Files or Impossible Mission concepts. Mores the pity. No money made from this endeavor.  
Summary: Ethan Hunt is assigned to infiltrate a Colombian drug czar's organization, by posing as an American drug trafficker. He must be accompanied by an agent to pose as his lover, but none of the IM force meet the requirements. FBI agent Fox Mulder is determined to be the perfect candidate.  
Warnings: Excessive drooling over Mulder. But then, you need to be WARNED about this?

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar  
by Scribe

The two girls sitting on the brick planter outside the mall were thirteen, and were on a high that only thirteen year old girls who have spent the day at the mall can achieve. They'd hyped themselves with liberal doses of caffeine and sugar, and had reached a stage of twitching giggles. Now they were waiting for a parent to come and take them home, and gloating over their loot.

"That is SO totally kewl, Jasmine," the little blonde said, envy clear in her tone. "I wish I had one."

Jasmine examined her prize smugly. "Don't blame me, Tara. If ya hadn't gotten that N'Sync CD you'da had enough to get one, too."

The object of their attention was what looked like a large automatic pistol. Closer inspection showed it to be made of plastic. "What flavor ammo did ya get?" Tara asked curiously.

"Chocolate, what else?" Jasmine showed her what looked like a clip. But instead of bullets, it was loaded with small brown candy lozenges. She carefully loaded the clip into the butt of the fake gun. "I can't wait to take this to school. I'm gonna nail that booger Mark Blanchard right between the eyes. That'll teach 'im to snap my bra an' ask why I bother wearing one."

"Yeah, well, ya better be careful, or they'll take it. They call 'em 'dangerous nuisances'. My mom says they're gonna recall 'em cause the spring is too strong. They say some kids choked, shooting the ammo into their mouths, an' one kid even put his brother's eye out."

"Crap." Jasmine said confidently. "That's one of those urban whatchamacallits, like in the movie where they get chopped up."

Tara frowned. "Prom Night?"

"No, the other one."

"The Shining?"

"NO! The one with the cute guy from Dawson's Creek, except he's blonde, an' he gets, like, hung from a tree."

Understanding dawned. "Oh. Urban LEGENDS."

"Yeah, that one. It's just stories grownups are passin' around to stop us from havin' fun."

Tara sounded doubtful. "I dunno. I think I saw it in the paper. They wouldn't lie in the paper, would they?"

"That's not what my dad says." Jasmine pointed the plastic pistol toward her own open mouth, and pulled the trigger. There was a sproinging snap, and a tiny brown pellet shot out, directly into her mouth. She chewed smugly. "See?"

"Do me!" Tara opened her mouth. Jasmine took aim, and shot. Direct hit. Suddenly her friend clutched her throat, eyes going wide.

"Tara?" Tara made a wheezing sound, grabbing Jasmine's arm. "Omygawd! Tara!" She thumped her on the back, hard. "Don't die! I'll do the Heinie maneuver on you!"

As she started to grab her friend, Tara laughed. "Get away from me, you 'mo!"

Jasmine got red in the face. "Tara, you snot!"

"Gimme! I wanna try!" Tara grabbed for the toy.

Jasmine tried to hold it away from her. "No way!"

The two friends struggled for possession of the toy, shoving and snatching. Neither one of them noticed the Jaguar that parked in the space nearby, or the man who got out. He started walking toward the mall entrance that was just to the left of the girls.

As he came up on the curb, Tara wrapped her hand around the butt of the candy gun, and Jasmine tried to jerk it away. She pulled the trigger. There was that familiar, sproinging snap, and a candy pellet shot out of the muzzle.

Both girls froze, gasping in horror. Because the little dart was flying straight at the man who was just passing by. It was going to smack him right in the head. They were doomed.

Casually, without looking around or breaking stride, the man brought his arm up. The candy bullet smacked into his palm, and his fingers closed around it. He took two more steps, then paused, and turned toward the girls.

Tara and Jasmine sat motionless, gaping at him. They were sure they were about to be hauled before mall security.

He regarded them, but they couldn't see his eyes, because he was wearing really kewl looking shades. In fact, this was quite possibly one of the kewlest looking guys they'd ever seen. Oh, kinda old. He was, like, almost thirty, or something. But he looked NICE. He was wearing tight blue jeans, and a black T-shirt, and he had the kind of body those guys on Xtreme Sports had. His hair was black, and kind of long, falling over his forehead and ears, and down past his collar.

He just stared at them, no expression on his face. Then he pushed the shades up on his forehead. He had the greenest eyes they had ever seen. He smiled slowly, and Jasmine felt the crotch of her panties get moist, like they did when she went to the Backstreet Boys concert and screamed herself into a frenzy.

He held up the little brown lozenge between his thumb and forefinger, then slowly wagged a finger at them admonishingly. He popped the candy in his mouth. Lowering his sunglasses again, he headed into the mall, chewing.

The girls stared after him. Then they looked at each other and burst into hysterical giggles, hugging each other frantically. "Omygawd!" gasped Tara. "I thought we were toast!"

"I almost was!" Jasmine fanned herself. "Yow!" She looked at the mall entrance longingly. "I wonder if he likes younger women?"

Ethan Hunt munched the candy as he pushed through the doors into the mall. As he walked, he took the headphones of the micro cassette player he had hooked on his belt and slipped them on. He punched PLAY, and a lively instrumental, driven by drums and laced with the wailing of flutes, filled his ears. He window shopped, occasionally snapping his fingers in time to the music.

At last he made his way to a kiosk in the middle of the mall called Munchsters. The glass fronted cases held a wide assortment of bulk candy, nuts, and snacks. As he shut off the music and removed the earphones, the man inside the counter gave him a professional greeting smile. "Need a nibble?"

*Bingo.* "Yeah, I'm having severe munchies, but I can't make up my mind. What do you recommend?" *Proper response given.*

"That all depends on your mood."

*And counter response.* "I'll rely on your judgement."

The man seemed to consider him. "You look like a chocaholic to me." He tapped the counter above a display of brightly wrapped miniature candy bars. "How about some Hershey's Miniatures? A little of everything."

"Sounds good. Half pound, please."

The man scooped the candy onto the scale, watching the needle swing. He removed two, then added one, finally nodding his satisfaction. He poured the candy into a white paper sack, and took Ethan's money. "Enjoy. The Special Dark Chocolates are my favorites."

"Mine, too. Thanks."

Ethan sauntered back out to the parking lot. The two sharp shooters were gone, he noted. He made his way to the forest green Jaguar and got inside. Opening the bag, he unwrapped and ate first a Krackle, then a Mr. Goodbar. The guy was right, he WAS a chocaholic.

Digging through the contents of the bag, he located a single Hershey's Special Dark Chocolate. Ethan skinned off the paper and unwrapped the gold foil. Instead of a chocolate bar, he revealed a micro cassette. Ethan sighed. He REALLY liked the Special Dark.

Ethan donned his headset again. He took another tiny wire and connected the player to a small port hidden in the frames of his sunglasses. Then he plugged the tape into the player and started it. Immediately the familiar, smooth voice with it's hint of Britain filled his ears.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hunt." Ethan half lifted a hand in greeting to the operative who was most likely several thousand miles away. You never could tell, though. It was entirely possible that he was being observed at the moment. Didn't hurt to be cordial.

He closed his eyes, and there was a sudden flicker of light across the backs of the closed lids. When he opened them, he was no longer looking through the windshield at the mall parking lot. He was looking at a photo shimmering on the inside lenses of his glasses. To anyone passing by, they would seem their usual dark shade.

Ethan was immediately interested in this mission, more so than usual. After all, it wasn't often that he began his assignments by being presented with a dossier photo of himself.

*No* he corrected himself. *That's not me. Pretty fucking close, though. I'd say maybe me, five years down the road. What gives?*

"This is Connor Galbraith. I'm sure you've noticed the remarkable resemblance to a certain M:I agent, who shall remain nameless."

Ethan studied the photo with interest. Galbraith was at some sort of society bash. *Hm. I look pretty damn good in a tuxedo.* The photo changed to show Galbraith more casually dressed, climbing out of a Porsche. The photos changed as the voice continued, showing the man in a variety of situations and outfits.

"Mr. Galbraith is an Irish lad made good. He's moved from the streets of Dublin into the lower levels of international high society. His interests are varied. As you can see, he's very sports oriented."

That he was. Tennis, rock climbing (Ethan's personal favorite), wrestling... He shook his head. The surveillance teams never ceased to amaze him. On the street was one thing, but how the fuck did they get such good shots from inside a closed gymnasium, or out in the open with the subject halfway up a cliff face?

"Mr. Galbraith has ties with the IRA, and has used his extensive smuggling contacts to run guns for the cause. But in his case, it's more business than political fervor. He's been well compensated, and has channeled the funds into his main enterprise. Drugs."

A photo of a handsome Latino man replaced Galbraith. He was big, at least 6'3", and powerfully built. His Indian black hair was cropped brutally short. His clean shaven face was handsome, but there was an edge of cruelty to the thin lips. The olive black eyes were sharp, showing a near fierce intelligence. He looked thoroughly dangerous.

"This is Olivero de la Montana, Columbian drug lord. He is known affectionately as `The Jaguar'. This is due to his preferred methods of dispatching his enemies. He either disembowels them, or breaks their necks, as the big cat does. At present, he's only a mid level player, no threat to the big boys. But if he can form an alliance with Galbraith, and use Connor's extensive smuggling operation for distribution, he can rise to the top. The present powers in the cartels won't like that, and it could trigger a bloodbath. Since it is known that Galbraith uses commercial transport extensively, many innocent lives could be lost in the struggle."

*Damn straight. A Columbian in a pissing contest is more fanatic than a Muslim fringe zealot on a jihad. They don't care who gets in the way: kids, grandmas, nuns, dogs. They all go.*

"Montana has scheduled a meeting with Galbraith in two weeks time to discuss a merger of interests. Quite obviously, it is in the best interests of all but the two participants that this partnership never come into being."

"We intend to intercept Connor Galbraith and his traveling companion, and detain them. An operative will take Galbraith's place. This should not be too difficult, as Montana has never actually met his prospective business partner, and knows him only through photographs and by reputation. And, as I'm sure you've noticed, Galbraith bears a certain resemblance to one of our more seasoned and, if I may say so, dashing agents."

"Flatterer," Ethan muttered, grinning.

The subject of the photos changed. The man in these was taller, rangy. He had thick brown hair that seemed to have a tendency to flop, and hazel eyes. *Nice. Sulky looking mouth.*

"This is Daniel Ballard, Of the Maryland Ballards. It may not mean much to you, Ethan, but I assure you it means a great deal in some circles. Daniel is the proverbial black sheep of the family. He is also Connor Galbraith's personal assistant, and lover."

The photos that followed were much like the first series. Daniel, sitting in a crowded banquette at a club, lounging beside a pool in a tiny pair of Speedos *Niiice.* Daniel looked good in a penguin suit, too. Connor had good taste.

"He's a spoiled and decadent young man. He has a trust fund, but it doesn't keep him in what he considers proper style, so he has been living with a series of sugar daddies since he left prep school. He is Galbraith's kept man. Galbraith is quite besotted with him and, as far as things go with Daniel, he seems to have genuine affection for his patron. Connor and Daniel are inseparable, so it would not be believable for Galbraith to make a trip like this alone. An operative will have to be found to portray Daniel convincingly."

*This assignment might have a few perks, if I get to squire around someone who looks like that.*

"So, Mr. Hunt. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to present yourself at this meeting as Connor Galbraith, discover what you can about Montana's organization, sabotage any chance of Galbraith ever forming an alliance with anyone in the cartels, and get yourself and any other M:I operatives out safely. If you agree, you'll find pertinent information at the agreed upon safe house. We're sending you directly into the jaws of the jaguar this time, Ethan. Be careful."

Ethan put the keys in the ignition and fired up the motor, pulling out. There wasn't much traffic, and he took the ramp up onto the freeway as the voice continued. "As always, should any of your M:I operatives be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions. This tape will self destruct in five seconds. Good luck, Ethan. Five..."

Ethan stopped the tape, counting, "Four." He ejected the tape. "Three." He rolled down the window. "Two." He whipped his arm, scaling the tiny cassette out toward the verge. There was a hissing sound, as the tape began to smoke. "One." It was dissolved before the plastic shell hit the ground.

Ethan disconnected the player, tossing it on the seat beside him. He popped a CD into the dash, and turned the volume up. The same instrumental he had listened to in the mall poured from the speakers. He began to tap his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the drums, singing under his breath. "Dah dah dah, dah DA. Dah dah dah, DUH dah..." He headed for the safe house.

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 2

Inside another false candy bar *Damn. A Krackle, my second favorite. Why couldn't they have screwed up the Mr. Goodbars?* he found a small key, with the address of the safe house and the number 2 etched into the metal. The safe house was located in a fairly upscale neighborhood in Baltimore. It was in the borderland between suburb and downtown: a nice, respectable two story brick building.

Ethan opened the mailbox for the second floor apartment down in the entry hall, noting that his name here was Ethan Bridger. Inside was an unaddressed manilla envelope that he knew would contain all the identification he would need to maintain this identity for the two weeks he had to prepare, credit cards in the name of Ethan Bridger, and a key to the upstairs apartment.

As he was shutting the mailbox, the door to apartment 1 opened, and a middle aged lady in a flowered duster peered out. She beamed at him happily, as if he were a long lost friend. "Good evening, Mr. Bridger. How long are you back for this time?"

Ethan didn't hesitate an instant. "Just two weeks..." Casual glance at the other mailbox. "Miz Gluckman. I'll be having a friend stay over with me."

She smiled naughtily. "A lady friend?"

He laughed. "No such luck."

"Well, let me know if you need anything. You know that you're the best tenant I've ever had." The smile broadened a little. "Sometimes I scarcely know that you're there."

*********************************************

Ethan locked the door behind himself and studied the room. Not bad. Hardwood floors with a good grade Persian rug, dark wood furniture upholstered in leather. There was a glass and chrome dinette set to one side. A computer was set up at a desk, and a paper shredder sat beside it. There was an entertainment center with a large screen television, DVD player, and CD sound system, complete with a selection of music ranging from classic to rap, and everything in between. All the comforts. Control must be feeling guilty about this mission.

He checked the kitchen. Fully equipped. Maybe he'd get a chance to cook a little. He'd like that, but the microwave would probably get the biggest work out. It all depended on how fast a study his partner turned out to be. If he was quick, then there would be a little time to relax. If not...He hoped there were good restaurants that delivered in the area.

The pantry and refrigerator were well stocked, and he helped himself to a Heineken Dark before wandering back into the living room. There was just one other door, besides the front closet. That meant one bedroom.

Ethan grinned. That probably meant one BED. He went in and checked. *Yep. King size brass bed. He can start off on the couch if he's skittish, but he's gonna have to sleep there with me eventually. After all, we're playing lovers. He needs to get used to it. Whoever `he' is. That's the first order of business.*

Back in the living room, he finished the beer before sitting down to the computer. No point in risking an accident. A drenched keyboard wouldn't fuck things up entirely, but it would be an annoyance, and a bad omen, as far as Ethan was concerned.

Ethan booted up the computer, reflecting that the information it contained would be worth a great deal of money to a great many interested parties. It would also endanger the lives of many people if it were to fall into the wrong hands. That was why Ethan was particularly careful signing on. A slip would have resulted in the information being destroyed, along with whoever had entered the wrong password, and a good portion of the surrounding room.

There were two icons on the desktop: one for an Internet connection, and a stylized jaguar head. Ethan clicked the jaguar, and opened the program that contained dossiers on all M:I operatives, worldwide. Another click brought up a photo of Daniel Ballard, and a line drawing of a man's body, each marked with dozens of red dots. These represented physical points. The operative who had the highest match on the physical scale while possessing certain personal skills would be the one. Hopefully they would be willing. The Impossible Missions were all voluntary, though well paid. No one was forced to do anything. That was why they were so effective.

Ethan specified that he was searching the data base of male operatives, then started the matching program. Immediately the screen began to flicker as images blinked on and off the monitor screen. Dossier photos were superimposed on Daniel Ballards image for a split second, matching features pinpointed and assessed. Ethan sat and watched it, hands folded patiently across his belly. The machine winnowed the prospects down to a hundred, then fifty, then twenty, then ten... There was a beep, and the screen split.

Daniel's image was shifted to one side, and the chosen operative's photo and particulars appeared on the other. Ethan sat forward, frowning. This didn't really look anything like Ballard, aside from the brown hair and height. He checked the figures. No wonder. Only a 58% match. That wouldn't do, wouldn't do at all. If he couldn't find at least a 90% match, he wouldn't feel safe going into Montana's lair. Well, as safe as he ever felt on any mission.

"It looks like I hunt abroad," he murmured. He minimized the screen, and signed on to the Internet. Mr. Bridger had a Netscape account. Ethan took the back entrance into the CIA's registry first. That was only a little better: 63%. Next he tried the DEA, and came up with 85%. Better, but not nearly good enough to suit him. He had more luck with the Department of Defense, finding an 89% there, but he didn't speak French. Ethan was not sure how much of a problem that would be, but he would have preferred not to have to worry about it. One last chance. He went into the FBI files.

The screen flickered again, and settled. A red light flashed at the bottom of the screen, haloing a figure. 97%. "YES!" Ethan closed Ballard's profile, and the FBI agent's ID photo filled the screen. It was uncanny. Ethan figured it would take a close blood relative to tell them apart, and since Ballard wasn't really on speaking terms with his close blood relatives...

Ethan read the name under the photo. "Fox Mulder. Fox?" He smiled. *Kinda an eighties term, but yeah. You are one. Now, let's have a look at your particulars, Fox.* A few keystrokes. *Hot damn! French AND Spanish! He'll be able to keep track of what's being said around him. Let's see...Oh, VERY good. His only close relative is his mother, and she's in a managed care facility. And he's considered to be a loner.*

Ethan went and got another beer to celebrate. He stood in front of the monitor and keyed up the photo of Mulder again, and studied it. If anything, he was actually BETTER looking than Ballard. Ethan took a swig of beer, relishing the mellow, malty taste. * His only really close contact is his partner, Dana Scully. Their director will help keep her satisfied about his whereabouts. Now, if he'll just play ball.* Ethan stared at Mulder's mouth, eyes tracing the lines. Unconsciously his tongue darted out to lick his own lips. "C'mon Fox," he whispered. "Come play with me."

*********************************************************

*The whole fucking world is going to hell in a handbasket.* Fox Mulder slumped on his futon, watching the midnight rerun of the ten o'clock news. On screen swarthy, rifle toting men in quasi-military uniforms stood guard over a huddled lump that was covered by an alarmingly blood splattered sheet. It looked like it had been tie dyed. The car behind them, door standing ajar, was a mess of shattered glass, exploded tires, and bullet punctured metal. The bland, accentless voice of a network news anchor was droning on about another drug war in Columbia that was threatening to spill over into other countries.

He sighed, and rubbed his face as the image disappeared, replaced by an ad for an exercise system. He was tired. Tired of beating his head against a cement wall. All his personal and professional investigations were stagnant. Nothing moved. He hadn't had a lead about what might have happened to Samantha in months. The Cancer Man seemed to have gone into retirement, though he knew THAT was too much to hope for. Even Alex Krycek hadn't been around to jerk his chain lately.

Scully couldn't understand his mood, of course. "Mulder, I'd think you'd be grateful for a little quiet. God knows I could use a little peace in my life."

There hadn't even been any new X Files for several weeks. Dana was doing mostly autopsies and forensic work on other agents' cases. Fox's last assignment had been babysitting a minor diplomat from a country he couldn't pronounce. That might not have been so bad if it had been a club hopping jet setter. But this one's idea of a good time was a rousing round of bridge. Fox had been pressed into service as a fourth, and had proceeded to thoroughly piss off his partner by losing trick after trick. It took five hands before he was finally allowed, ungraciously, to bow out. He wondered what his mother would have said if she knew he'd done it deliberately. She'd been rather proud of him when he could best senior level players before he went into junior high.

On screen a very muscular, dark haired young man stripped his T-shirt over his head as the announcer intoned, "THIS could be your body."

"Alright. Send him over." Fox murmured. He winced at himself. *Damn Fox, gotta be a smart ass, even when it's just you? And what WAS that, anyway? Well...* he answered himself, *...the line was just too good to pass up.* He silently pointed a finger at the screen, where an equally buff young woman was doing vigorous leg lifts. *Send THAT over.*

Satisfied that he'd straightened that out, though for the life of him he couldn't say exactly WHO he'd been worried about confusing, he took a sip of beer from the bottle he'd been cradling between his legs. *Ugh!* He grimaced, but forced it down. *Warm. Note to self: don't hug beer anymore. Body heat bitches it up.*

The commercial ended, and was followed in quick succession by ads for luxury cars, long distance services, tacos, and a personal injury suit lawyer *No charge for the first visit. Can visit you in the hospital. Of course, they don't mention the fact that if they aren't pretty sure they can get a hefty settlement, then grab a major portion of it in fees, you're shit out of luck.*

Finally the news came back on. Disheveled men and women were being hauled out of a seedy looking house in handcuffs. More drug news, but on the home front, this time. The house had been a distribution point. Agents theorized that the bust had set the traffickers back all of three or four days. Mulder squinted as a slight figure was led to a police car, ducking her head in the glare of lights. *Aw, fuck. That kid can't be more than fourteen.*

Mulder stabbed at a button, shutting off the television, then threw the remote across the room. It was followed by the now empty beer bottle. *People getting gunned down in the streets, teeny boppers helping bag cocaine.* He remembered the commercials he'd just seen. *And a Chihuahua gets paid probably more than I do to shill for Tex Mex fast food. I wouldn't mind it so much if I thought the little bastard could actually talk. Has the world ALWAYS been this fucked up, or am I just now noticing it?*

He'd been watching tv with the lights off, so at least he didn't have to get up and go to the switch. He didn't feel like standing up at all, so he just shimmied out of his clothes and tossed them on the floor. He'd hung his jacket up before, so it wouldn't be wrinkled. Fox lay back in his jockeys and undershirt, and stared up at the ceiling, watching the shadows cast by the light that seeped through the blinds.

*I should sleep. Hell, of course I should. It's not like knowing that I should is going to make it any easier to actually DO. I've got so little going on in my life right now, why the hell is my mind still ping-ponging?*

Irritated, he sat up and jerked off the undershirt, then lay back down. *Better.* Again he stared up. He tried to make his mind blank, as blank as the white expanse of the ceiling above him. It didn't work. He closed his eyes and saw red splashes, and frightened young faces, trying to look tough.

*I need to relax and distract myself. There's always the natural way. Let's see...Who do I want tonight?* Eyes still closed, he began to flick through a mental Rolodex. There was Dana, of course, but he hadn't fantasized about her since the early days of their partnership. It seemed vaguely incestuous now. There was the new secretary in records, she was a red head, too. Or...*Yeah, how about Buffy, the Blonde Exercise Bunny? With that spandex, I've gotten a better look at her body than I have most women I know. She'll do.*

Fox slid off his jockey shorts and spread himself out comfortably, letting the cool, air conditioned air wash over his naked body. With his left hand he grazed first one nipple, then the other, imagining that it was the crimson nail tips of the commercial model teasing him. They stiffened, and he pinched himself softly, letting out a small groan. One good thing about living alone and having sex with yourself; you didn't have to worry about how much noise you made. A couple of his lovers had complained about that. "Dammit Fox, it's the woman who's supposed to be the screamer!", one had said. Embarrassed, he tried now to stifle his vocal responses when he made love.

Now he let his hands smooth down his torso, over his belly. He imagined the soft, small hands of a woman, but in the back of the mind he was thinking that his own larger, harder hands felt just fine. He was half hard already when he reached his cock. He half smiled to himself. *Now, now, Buffy old girl. Don't be in such a rush. We want this to last, don't we?"

It was good that Mulder was careful about closing his blinds, because right then he would have been a voyeur's delight. His lean, long limbed body gleamed pale in the dim room. His face flushed slightly as he stroked himself to full erection, and he arched his head back against the pillow, lips parted slightly to let the ragged breaths flow more smoothly.

When he started the fantasy, he'd intended to have Buffy straddle him and ride him on the exercise bench, but it wasn't working out that way. Instead she was sucking him off, kneeling between his spread thighs. Oh, and what a talented mouth she had. Fox didn't try to mentally direct the action. He just let it roll, and enjoyed it.

He paused for a moment in his manipulations, and spat into his hands, then started again. Yes, that was better. Warm and wet. If he thought hard enough, he could imagine that it was a hot mouth he was sliding in and out of. He got closer to the edge, the heat and tension rising. He was thrusting up into his own grip, grunting with each lift of his lean hips. Almost there now...

In his mind's eye he reached down and tangled his hands in the thick, dark hair, guiding the head bobbing up and down at his crotch. And they obliged by swallowing him down to the root, while a large, firm hand gripped his balls, massaging them gently, and he came. He arched, straining strongly into his fantasy lover's oral embrace, spilling his seed in a hot, liquid rush that bathed his belly.

He collapsed, panting, and waited a moment to regain his breath. Then he retrieved his jockeys and used them to wipe himself clean before dropping them again. He needed to do laundry some time soon.

As he was starting to drift off to sleep, a thought drifted across his mind. *Dark hair? Wasn't Buffy a blonde? Why was I thinking about dark hair down there tickling the inside of my thighs? And big hands?*

His eyes popped open, and he spent another long time staring at the ceiling.

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 3

Mulder got a little sleep before dawn. On the way in to the Bureau, he got himself a double espresso, sweet, hoping that the caffeine and sugar would be enough to keep him from nodding off at his desk as he reorganized his files. It was the only thing he could think of to do, and it irritated him royally. He hated `make busy' work.

When he stopped to sign in at security, the guard said, "Mulder, Skinner wants to see you, first thing."

Mulder sighed. "What now? Another international air head need a nursemaid?"

The guard shrugged. "Like he tells me?"

Outside Skinner's office, Mulder paused and gulped the coffee as quickly as he could without burning himself. He immediately got a rush, feeling more alert and ready to face whatever the Assistant Director could throw at him. Maybe he was being pessimistic. Maybe it wouldn't be quite as tedious as the last assignment.

Fox entered the office, and paused, hand on the knob. Eileen, Skinner's secretary, was not at her desk. He frowned, wondering if he should just go in. He jumped when a soft voice said, "She stepped out for a minute." Fox shut the door, and saw that it had blocked from view a young man sitting in a chair against the near wall.

Fox nodded, and received a nod in return. The other man was dressed much more casually than was usual for the Bureau: khakis, a plain white shirt, open at the throat, and a loose beige linen jacket. He had shaggy, almost black hair, and green eyes. Fox caught himself staring, then realized that he was being scrutinized with equal intensity. "Waiting for Skinner?" He almost winced. *Oh, REAL intelligent, Fox, since he's sitting in the man's WAITING ROOM.*

The other man smiled, getting up and offering his hand. "Actually, I'm here to see you."

His grip was firm, but not aggressive. "Really? What can I do for you?"

Ethan's smile widened. *Oh, I can think of all kinds of things.* "I'd rather wait for Mr. Skinner to vouch for me. I'm going to need you to take me very seriously."

"Alright." Fox wondered if he ever had trouble getting people to take him seriously. Sometimes really good looking people did, and this guy was...Well, handsome was kind of weak. Beautiful came closer to the mark. He must drip with women.

Skinner came in, carrying a cup of coffee. "Fox. Glad to see Murrow remembered to tell you. Come on back to the office." The three men passed into The ADA's office. Fox and the visitor took chairs opposite the desk, while Skinner sat in his swivel chair.

Skinner set aside the coffee. *That's going to get cold now.* Fox thought. *He won't drink it during a meeting. Waste of perfectly good caffeine.*

"Fox, I want you to meet Ethan Bridger. Ethan, Fox Mulder. Ethan is here to ask for your help on a case, and I'm hoping you'll consider it carefully. The situation may sound a bit odd, but I assure you there's a reason for everything, and you can trust him." Walter paused, then said quietly, "I've been told to STRONGLY urge you to cooperate, but I'm not going to lie to you, Fox."

*Uh oh. I think things may be about to get interesting.* Skinner didn't sweat small things. If he was going to warn Mulder about something, Mulder had damn well better listen, and listen closely. "Go on."

"I don't know what the mission will be, but I do know it will be dangerous. I believe you'll be out of contact with any agency for a period of time." He looked at Ethan, who nodded. "It's going to be field work, and undercover. You haven't done that before, I know, but you apparently possess unique qualities that suit you to this situation. You'll have to decide quickly, but I want you to be sure. I don't want you plunging into anything headlong without thinking about it."

"Would I do that?"

Skinner's lips twisted in a wry, almost smile. "You have been known. I'll turn you over to Ethan, and he will explain things. If you decide to refuse, go on with your work. If you decide to accept, good luck, and I'll see you when you get back."

"Just like that? No forms to fill out?"

"No forms," said Ethan. "My people aren't big on paperwork." He looked at Skinner. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"Third door on the left."

Fox led the way up the hall. Ethan took the opportunity to watch his ass. *Shit, do all Feebs have to wear pants that bag in back? He's going to look a lot better wearing the kind of threads Ballard favors. Can't wait to see that butt in a pair of tight jeans.*

Once in the room, a cubicle bare of all but a table and two chairs, Fox sat down. Ethan locked the door, then reached inside his jacket and removed something that looked a little like one of those pocket sized liquid crystal televisions. "Excuse me just a minute, Fox."

Ethan extended an antenna on the device, and flipped a switch. There was a muted hum. He extended his arm and turned in a slow circle, watching the screen, adjusted a knob, and repeated the motion. He did this several times. Finally, he stood on the empty chair and spent a moment passing the device around the lighting fixture. Satisfied at last, he shut the machine off and pocketed it, then sat down. "It's clean."

Fox had watched these activities with interest. "Did you expect to find anything?"

Ethan shrugged. "You don't take chances when you can avoid it."

Fox studied Bridger. "You aren't FBI." It was a statement, not a question. Ethan didn't answer. "So, what? CIA, DEA, ATF, one of the other alphabet organizations?" Still no answer. "Look, if we're just gonna sit here and stare at each other, I want coffee."

Bridger smiled faintly. "Yeah, you have the attitude. No, I'm not any of those agencies."

"Are you gonna tell me? Because I have to tell you, the cloak and dagger shit gets old REAL fast."

"I COULD tell you. But then you'd either have to join, or I'd have to kill you." Fox looked at him sharply. For the life of him, he couldn't tell if the man was joking, or not. "I'm one of the good guys, Fox. That's all you need to know right now."

Fox sighed, resigning himself. Damn, he hated suspense. "Alright. If Skinner vouches for you, that's enough for me." He folded his hands, and looked at the other man expectantly.

"First thing, Fox, what do you think about the drug trade?" Mulder rolled his eyes. "No, I'm serious. I'm not talking about politically correct indignation or moralistic horror. I mean your personal gut feelings."

"I hate it. I think it would be kinder if they shipped arsenic instead. At least the deaths would be quick, and the users wouldn't be killing and hurting citizens to get the next fix. I could rant for a couple of hours, but that's about it."

"And how do you feel about the government's `war on drugs'? No company line, here. Tell me the truth."

"What do I think? I think it's about as effective as holding up a `STOP' sign in front of a forest fire."

"Would you be interest in participating in a mission that would make a significant impact? At the same time, it would almost certainly protect the innocents who would get caught in the crossfire if it doesn't go down."

Mulder stared at Bridger, considering. Brief images flitted across his mind: a blood-splattered sheet, shattered glass, a slender figure in handcuffs. "I might. Tell me more."

"An alliance is being discussed between a Columbian drug lord and an international drug runner. If these two hook up, the flow of drugs into this country, and others, will swell. The cartels are notoriously jealous of their economic bases. They aren't going to like this, and they aren't going to let a challenge like this pass."

Fox winced. "Ah, shit. Drug war."

"A bad one, not limited to Columbia. When the distribution system starts operating, it will run through major cities throughout Europe and America. The cartels will try to stop it by attacking any shipment that they become aware of. These people do not do surgical strikes, Mulder. They go in with Uzis and bazookas. People WILL die, Mulder, and not just drug runners."

People would die. Yes, that was the way these things always worked. "You've convinced me it's a good cause. But what, exactly, do you want me for? I have a hard time believing you couldn't find someone else more suited. I like to think I'm a good agent, but I'm not James Bond, and I know it."

"It has to be you, Mulder." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a couple of glossy photographs, offering them. "This is why."

Fox took the pictures. Bridger, and... He frowned. "When was this taken? I don't remember this."

"Look closer."

Fox studied the photo. It was obviously taken by a store security camera, but of excellent quality. In it, he was standing at a counter, sorting through a selection of ties. He looked closer. "Wait a minute. That's not me."

"No, it isn't. His name is Daniel Ballard. But even you couldn't tell at first. Is it becoming a little clearer now?"

"A little. It's only murky instead of completely obscure." Now he studied the photo of Bridger. *Or is it? No, Bridger looks like this guy might if he had a really good month long vacation.* "Okay, who's this, then?"

"That's Conner Galbraith, the drug smuggler. He's due to meet with Olivero de la Montana in two weeks, and go to his estate. If this mission goes forward, goes forward, our people will detain him, and I'll go instead. I'll learn what I can about the Montana operation, discredit Galbraith with so that he'll never be trusted to do business with any of the upper echelon, and get out."

"But where do I come in? I mean, I know it has to have something to do with Ballard, but I'm damned if I can guess why."

"Galbraith never goes anywhere without him. If I showed up alone, they'd be suspicious from the start."

"What are they, frat brothers?"

"Daniel's official position is that of Connor's personal assistant. A more quaint, but accurate, term would be `concubine'."

"Oh. He's..."

"Just a gigolo. But a very exclusive, well compensated one. He's venal, but apparently not entirely so. He's had more lucrative offers, but he chooses to stay with Connor."

"So you're telling me that I'm a dead ringer for the male whore of a drug runner."

"A bit crude, but yes."

"My life just gets better and better."

"I need you on this, Mulder. I'll be doing most of the real work. All you really have to do is present yourself as Ballard, act like we're passionately involved, and keep your eyes and ears open."

"Uh huh. Exactly how passionately involved would I have to act?"

"Very. They aren't shy about their relationship. There's a lot of PDOA."

"PDOA?"

"Public displays of affection. It means that if I grab your ass in public, you don't flinch. If I ask for a kiss, you give it. With tongue. Ballard isn't effeminate, but Connor is definitely in charge of the relationship. Daniel exercises power through manipulation. He's a brat, and a tease, and Connor loves him dearly."

"How long would we be undercover?"

"As long as it takes. A few days, probably not more than a week."

"And we'd be totally on our own?"

"Not totally, but it'll be very limited. The marines aren't going to burst in and save our asses if we fuck up. I'm not going to sugar coat this. You'll be compensated."

He named a figure that made Fox's mouth go dry. *Holy shit. This is serious.*

"But it's dangerous. You could die. If you do, your people will never know what happened to you. You will disappear off the face of the earth. But I'll do my damndest to see that doesn't happen. And I'm good, Fox. I'm very good."

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 4

Fox stared at the man sitting across from him, thinking about all he'd just heard. It was crazy. But then, when had craziness ever been a deterrent to Fox Mulder? "How much force would I be expected to use?"

"If all goes well, that shouldn't be an issue. I'd expect you to defend yourself, or me, if I was attacked. But this isn't an assassination. You aren't expected to terminate anyone in cold blood. If it should become absolutely necessary, I'll do it, but we try to avoid that whenever possible." His tone was mater of fact and unapologetic. "Anything else, Mulder? Ask anything you want. I need you to be sure about this." Mulder thought. WAS there anything else? He knew that there SHOULD be, but he couldn't say what.

The choice wasn't really all that complicated. He could leave the room with this intense young man, putting his life in the hands of someone he'd known less than an hour, committing himself to going into a situation that most sane people wouldn't attempt with less than a company of fully armed marines. Or he could go down to the basement and resume reorganizing his files, hoping that something remotely interesting would turn up soon.

"Okay. You got me."

Ethan smiled. *Not yet. But it's just a matter of time.*

*************************************

"No, I'm sorry, you can't contact your partner. Skinner will give her an explanation as to why you're unavailable."

Fox didn't particularly like that, but he could see it's necessity. He knew that some of the men they'd be dealing with considered wiping out an enemy's entire circle of family and associates to be good business practice. "What about clothes? Don't I need to pack?"

Ethan had escorted him to a very tasty green Jaguar, and they were on the road, headed toward Baltimore. That was where he was going to spend the next two weeks becoming Daniel Ballard.

"No. I doubt if anything you have would be suitable. Daniel has expensive tastes. Outfitting you will be part of the learning exercise. We'll start today, and we can pick up the entire wardrobe gradually."

"Wardrobe? How much am I going to need?"

"A good bit. Daniel is a clothes horse, and Connor loves to indulge him. We may be inside as long as a week, and Daniel would want to appear at his best to impress his lover's potential partner. Kind of like a corporate wife. By the way, you may need to flirt with Montana."

Fox eyed Ethan dubiously. "JUST flirt?"

"Maybe." He slid a glance at Fox. "Will that be a problem for you?" Fox was silent. "Don't worry about it right now. Olivero may have the stereotypical macho temperament."

"Maybe and may don't instill a lot of confidence, Hunt." *Only about twenty minutes into this case, and already I'm having doubts. Oh, well. Montana IS Latin American, what would be the odds?*

The shopping was a new experience. Mulder had always made do at chain stores. His one prize was the Armani he had picked up deeply discounted from a store owner grateful for someone who didn't automatically sneer at his tale of a late night alien abduction. After careful investigation, Mulder came to the conclusion that the man was a fruitcake, but he didn't turn down the deal on the suit.

"You're going to need mostly casual and club clothes," Ethan explained as he led him into a small store with a dignified facade and a discreet sign, stating that it was `Talbot and Sons'. "But I think we should have at least one jacket. Daniel would want to be prepared for any occasion, but we'll skip the tux."

"Damn, and I was really looking forward to a satin cummerbund."

"You wore pastels to your senior prom, didn't you?"

A dignified, grey haired man approached them, a tape measure dangling around his neck. "Good day, gentlemen. I am the proprietor. How can I assist you?" He eyed Ethan's costume with approval, and Fox's with mild disdain.

Ethan gestured at Fox. "My friend and I are having a little holiday in South America. He needs some vacation clothes, and a nice blazer, I think."

Mr. Talbot stepped back and considered Fox carefully. "Hm, yes. All light weight, of course, what with the climate." He walked around Fox. "Well proportioned. Broad shoulders, narrow waist and hips, long legs. Yes, he'll be a pleasure to dress."

"What am I?" Fox muttered to Ethan. "A Ken doll?"

"Be quiet and let the man do his job, Fox."

Talbot took Fox's measurements, all of them: chest, waist, hips, shoulder to wrist, neck, outer seam...Fox wanted to balk at the inside leg measurement, but Ethan glared at him silently, and he acquiesced.

Once the haberdasher had the measurements, Ethan and Fox were seated in comfortable chairs, and the assistants started bringing out the clothes.

Fox sat quietly while Ethan and Talbot discussed what cuts and colors would look best on him. At one point he asked if HE had any say in what he was going to wear. Ethan had replied certainly. He could chose from whatever Ethan saw fit to buy him. Fox slouched in his chair with a sullen look on his face, but didn't protest any more.

Mr. Talbot watched the interplay with interest. They were by no means the first couple like this to come into his establishment, though it was usually a much older man outfitting a younger one. He suspected that the dark haired one was going to have his hands full with his companion, who seemed a bit spoiled. But as the shopping continued, he decided that the young man with the green eyes wasn't the type to let his lover push him around.

They were loaded down with bags when they left. Fox was feeling a bit dazed by the conspicuous consumption. He had three silk shirts, three linen shirts, five pairs of slacks, blue jeans, underwear, a navy blazer, shorts, a couple of casual pullovers, socks, a tie that cost more than he usually spent on an entire outfit, and the tiniest pair of swimming trunks he'd ever seen. He'd flatly refused the thong, that was one thing Ethan couldn't budge him on.

And still they weren't done. After lunch they, or rather Ethan, purchased loafers, athletic shoes, and some executive lace-ups. At a sports store Mulder acquired new sweats, tees, and running shorts. The final stop was a jewelry store. The clerk here greeted him familiarly. "Good afternoon, Mr. Bridger. It's almost done, they're just finishing the engraving."

"That's fine. I need to pick up a watch, anyway." He went over to the watch display. "Okay, Fox, what do you think? Cartier? Or maybe Gucci, or Longines. They've got Movado, Vizio, Skagen, Omega..."

"No Rolex?"

He meant the question to be snide, but Ethan said calmly, "Only a second hand one."

"I was beginning to wonder what type of card you had. Is there anything AFTER Titanium?"

"Let me see that one, please." Ethan pointed to a handsome watch of brushed steel. The clerk handed it out reverently. Ethan took Fox's hand and slipped it on his wrist, then studied the effect. He removed it, handing it back. "Now let me see one with a rectangular face instead." Again Fox modeled the watch. "Yes, that's better."

Fox got a look at the price tag, and blanched. "Hunt, I'd be scared to wear this. It costs more than my first car did."

An older man, who'd been watching them, leaned over and whispered to Fox, "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, dear boy. You may be young and pretty, but good sugar daddies are hard to find."

Fox flushed, but murmured, "Thanks for the advice. I'll remember that."

Ethan paid for the watch. As he was signing his receipt, the manager came out of the back, holding a small velvet box. "Here you are, Mr. Bridger. It turned out lovely, if I do say so myself. Please, check it."

Ethan accepted the box and opened it. "Yes, that's perfect." He offered the box to Fox. "For you, Daniel m'love."

The box held a heavy silver man's ring, fashioned in a Celtic knot design. Fox picked it from the satin lining and examined the inside. In simple, dignified script were the initials CG and DB. Ethan took the ring back, held Fox's wrist, and slipped it on his third finger, left hand.

Fox stared at it. There was no mistaking the symbolism. He knew without asking that this was a reproduction of a ring that Connor Galbraith had given Daniel Ballard, and it was a sign of ownership as much as a token of affection.

He looked back at Ethan. The manager and a couple of the clerks were watching with pleased, excited looks on their faces. What had Hunt told them about this commission? That it was an anniversary present? Some sort of engagement ring, or WEDDING ring? They were expecting some sort of reaction out of him, that much was obvious.

And he could tell that Ethan was, too. *This is a test. He wants to see how I'll do presenting myself as Daniel. What would Daniel do? I don't know that much about him yet, but Hunt said PDOAs.*

Fox twisted the ring on his finger admiringly. Then he smiled at Ethan, softly said, "Babe, it's beautiful," and kissed him.

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 5

Out in the car once more, Ethan nodded at Fox. "That was good, Mulder. Not a flicker, not a flinch. I think you may be able to pull this off."

"Thanks. I know you said tongue, but it just didn't seem appropriate for the rather romantic atmosphere." He said it dead faced, but Ethan's generous mouth curled at the corners. "So, does this mean we're engaged?"

"Connor considers himself married to Daniel, there's no question of that. Daniel...well, he likes to flirt. As far as we know he hasn't actually cheated on Connor. Connor likes to show Daniel off. There may have even been a little three way fun, but he'll definitely take apart anyone he feels is poaching on his territory."

"Huh. Sounds like a red neck. Shows off his girlfriend, then wants to beat the crap out of anyone who's interested."

"Not too far off the mark. Galbraith comes from the streets, no matter where he's ended up."

Fox wasn't sure what he had been expecting as far as the apartment went. Not anything this...middle class, anyway. In the downstairs hall, he waited while Ethan unlocked one of the mailboxes and removed several large manilla envelopes and a padded shipping envelope.

The door behind them opened, and a pleasant looking, plump woman peered out, beaming when she saw them. "Hello, Mr. Bridger. This must be your friend."

"Yes. Fox, this is Mrs. Gluckman, my landlady. Mrs. Gluckman, my good friend, Fox Mulder."

"Hi." Fox shook hands. The woman's face was bland, but her eyes were shrewd. "Pleased to meet you."

"What a nice, polite young man! But then, he WOULD be, being your friend, Mr. Bridger. Wait just a minute." She disappeared into the apartment, and appeared a moment later with a foil wrapped plate. "Here you are. I made a strawberry pound cake, and I just can't eat it all. You boys will have to help me."

Ethan took the plate. "You spoil me, Mrs. G. Thanks."

She smiled, darting a glance at the lanky man hovering near the stairs, and whispered, "Have fun, dear. But don't neglect business." Ethan winked at her, earning a chuckle, as he headed for the stairs.

Fox wanted to ask Ethan about the woman, but waited until they were in the apartment. "Does she...She isn't...part of your...uh...organization. Is she?"

Ethan set the plate and mail on the dining table. "What? You think spies can't bake? Want a beer?"

"Yeah." He followed Ethan into the kitchen, and glanced around. Almost as pristine as his own. Of course, he didn't do much more than make coffee and heat take out there. "I hope Daniel isn't a gourmet cook, expected to whip up a banquet for Montana, `cause if he is, you're shit out of luck."

"I believe Danny probably pouts if he has to eat in more than twice a week. Dark okay?"

"What brand does Daniel drink?"

Ethan looked at him sharply. "You're learning." He handed Fox a bottle. "I don't know. It should be somewhere in the information they're sending us." Ethan took a beer himself and shut the refrigerator, then leaned back against it. "There's going to be a lot of details, Fox." He uncapped his beer and took a long swallow. "There's no telling what might be important, so you'll need to get it all. As far as we know, no one in Montana's inner circle has had direct contact with Ballard or Galbraith, but we can't take any chances. Anyway, the two are fairly well known in the drug trade, so there's information floating around out there about them. Certain things will be expected, and looked for."

"Like PDOA?"

"Like PDOA. We might as well get comfortable and get started."

In the dining area, Ethan took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair before sitting down. He opened one of the envelopes and began to scan through the sheaf of papers he pulled out. After a moment's hesitation, Fox removed his own jacket and followed Ethan's example, sitting around the corner from him. Without looking up from the papers, Ethan said, "Why don't you take off that tie? You're strangling me, just looking at you."

After years in a prep school where a tie was part of the daily uniform, Fox had pretty much the same feeling about them. But at the Bureau, you wore ties, so he wore a tie. If he could go most of three weeks without wearing one, he'd count that as a perk. The tie went into the jacket pocket.

Ethan handed him some of the papers. "Usually when you go under with an assumed identity, you only have to know about the person you're impersonating. In this case, the two involved are so intimate with each other that we're each going to have to learn everything we can about them both."

Fox looked at the top sheet of the pile he held. It was part of a medical history. "Can I take notes?"

"Good idea. There should be legal pads and pens over in the desk."

Fox found what he needed in the bottom drawer. He examined the computer curiously. He didn't have a lot of experience with them himself. He left most of that to The Lone Gunmen. But he had a suspicion that there were some very interesting things inside that little beige box.

Ethan called. "Don't fool with that, Fox."

"I wasn't going to. Give me a little credit."

"I figured you had enough sense, but you never know what a temptation curiosity can be. So don't fool with it. It could get...messy."

*I bet. God knows what's tucked in there.* He carried his supplies back to the table and settled down to study. He pulled his reading glasses out of his jacket pocket, and slipped them on.

Ethan looked over. The rimless glasses were square, and gave Fox an almost scholarly look. He could very well be a junior professor of literature of philosophy. Handsome, but..."Daniel doesn't wear glasses."

Fox didn't look up. "Maybe Daniel is so vain that he'd rather have blurry vision."

"That's possible," Ethan admitted. "But he doesn't wear glasses. Do you need to wear those?"

"If I'm going to read, I do." He shuffled the papers. "Besides, it says here that the reason Ballard doesn't wear glasses is that he wears contacts. Looks like a stronger prescription than mine, actually."

Ethan made a note. "We'll have to get those set up tomorrow."

They worked in silence for awhile. The quiet was broken only by the faint scratch of Mulder's pen moving across paper. He came to the end of his section, reviewed it, then looked back over his notes. Ethan was reading what looked like a shipping report. He had the sheet lying on the table before him. His elbows were propped to either side of it, and both hands were buried in his shaggy hair.

Fox watched the intent green eyes flicking rapidly over the information on the sheet. He had a feeling that Ethan probably didn't really need to take notes. Some people just absorbed information like a sponge, and Hunt seemed to be one of them.

Every now and then, Hunt's lips moved slightly, as if he were talking to himself. Fox found himself following the movements. He had a very expressive mouth. Suddenly Ethan's eyes flicked up, locking on his. "Yes?"

Fox glanced around quickly for a topic of conversation. He tapped the padded envelope that had come with the mail. "What's this?"

"Let's find out. We've done enough of this for the time being."

Ethan ripped open the envelope, then put it through the shredder on the desk. It's content was an unlabeled video tape. He turned on the television and inserted the tape in the VCR, then went to sit beside Fox on the couch. The remote was on the coffee table before him, and he took it and hit PLAY.

There were no credits, no title. It merely showed what looked like a table in an expensive restaurant. The tablecloth was heavy, china, silver, and crystal gleamed against the rich fabric. In a moment, Connor Galbraith and Daniel Ballard were escorted to the table by a tuxedo clad maitre de, and seated. It looked like the camera was located no more than six or seven feet away from them.

Ethan shook his head admiringly. "The surveillance men are the true artists of this field. I'll never understand how they do it. We'll get periodic tapes like this so we can make personal observation on speech patterns and such." They listened to the two men discussing what to order. "You won't need to work on the voice, you're close enough. I'm going to have to brush up my brogue, though."

"I don't think Connor HAS a brogue. It's more of a LILT."

"Why Fox, that's a rather romantic term to use."

Mulder frowned. "I'm trying to think like Daniel."

They continued to watch the tape. Galbraith and Ballard had a leisurely meal. They were obviously very comfortable with each other. At one point Daniel remarked on something Connor was eating. Connor cut a forkfull and fed it to his lover, teasing him about never being satisfied. Daniel murmured that the only thing in the world that truly satisfied him was Connor, and squeezed his leg under the table.

Fox shifted. He'd never been that intimate with a WOMAN in public. Now he was going to have to act like that with another MAN? Oh, well. He glanced over at Ethan, who was sitting forward, studying his double. At least with someone who looked like Ethan, it was plausible. It wasn't like he was going to have to make up to some bowser.

*And since when does THAT have anything to do with it, Mulder? Wouldn't it be better if he WAS ugly? Then people would be less likely to think that you were really interested him. Wait, I'm SUPPOSED to make them think that. Well, yeah, Montana and his goons. But I'd rather not have the rest of the world..."

"You'll need to make your gestures just a little softer, a little lazier. Daniel's kind of a languid guy, except when he's partying."

"Check. Languid party animal."

The couple was leaving the table. "Good manners. They both fold their napkins. I'll need to find out what sort of tips Galbraith usually leaves."

"Probably big, to show off for Daniel."

"Could be." Ethan switched off the television. "Let's get some sleep. No point in over doing it the first day. You've had a lot to take in already."

He got up and went to the bedroom. "Cut out the lights, would you?"

Fox did, and went to the bedroom doorway. Ethan was sitting on the bed, removing his shoes. "There's only one bed."

Ethan looked around, then looked back at Fox. "I see that." He pulled his shirt off. Hunt wasn't big, but everything he had looked lean and hard.

"Where am I supposed to sleep?"

"Left or right side, your choice. I don't care." He stood up and started opening his belt.

"I...don't think so."

Ethan shoved his pants down muscular legs, took them off, and folded them across a chair. "Alright." He picked up a comforter from the foot of the bed and tossed it, and a pillow to Fox. "But I'm not giving up the bed. You can have the couch."

"Okay." Fox started to turn away. The couch looked comfortable enough. He'd slept on worse.

"But Mulder?" Fox turned back. Ethan in a pair of very small dark blue briefs, was sliding under the sheets. "Daniel and Connor sleep together. We're going to share a bed at Montana's, and there'll be no dossing down on the floor, either. There's no telling when someone might decide to check on us. So it might be easier for you if you get used to it BEFORE we go. Good night."

He switched off the bedside lamp. Fox stood there a moment, then went back into the living room.

In the darkness, Ethan Hunt smiled.

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 6

The couch, Fox decided, was not as comfortable as it looked. Not for lying on, anyway. He spent a while tossing and turning. Damn it, he had a hard enough time sleeping, but trying to sleep in a strange place, in a strange situation, was impossible.

He finally rewound the tape and clicked it on, turning the sound down to a bare murmur. He sat up and watched the two men as they made their way through their meal, completely oblivious to observation.

Galbraith and Ballard weren't blatant in their relationship, but the signs were clear, if you looked. There was a lot of eye contact, smiles for no discernable reason. They touched each other. That one leg squeeze was the only one that even the most prudish could call sexual, but the others were intimate. Daniel would lay his hand over Connor's to make a point. Connor would reach over and push Daniel's hair up off his forehead. Gestures that didn't pass between `just friends.'

"Mulder?" Fox jerked. He'd been so absorbed in the tape that he hadn't seen or heard Ethan come to the doorway. He was leaning one hand against the doorframe, rubbing his face with the other. "What are you doing?"

"Studying."

"I thought I told you to get some sleep."

"Easier said than done."

Ethan sighed. "Do you want a back rub?" Fox stared at him. "Shit, I'm not trying to seduce you, Fox, I'm trying to help you sleep. Offering a back rub would be just a little too corny."

"Okay. That would be nice."

Ethan padded over to the couch, then frowned. "Well, for one thing, you might be more comfortable if you took off your pants."

All Fox had removed before lying down were his shoes and socks. He couldn't say why he hadn't at least taken off his shirt. Now there didn't seem to be any excuse, because Ethan was right, and he knew it. Fox stripped off his shirt, then reached for his belt, and hesitated. "Could you turn around?"

"Jesus, Fox! Just drop them, okay? I'm gonna see you in your shorts, anyway. We're supposed to be lovers."

Fox undid his pants and stepped out of them. Ethan immediately gave a wolf whistle, then grinned. Fox rolled his eyes and lay back down on the couch, on his stomach. He bunched the pillow under his chin, crossing his arms over it, as Ethan sat on the edge of the cushion near his hip.

Ethan took a moment to admire the long sweep of back leading down to what he suspected was a very tempting butt. It was a shame he wore those baggy boxers. He was glad that he'd bought some silk briefs for the other agent.

He took hold of Fox's shoulders and dug in forcefully. Fox yelped. "Hey!"

"Relax. This isn't going to be some wimpy little petting session, Mulder. You're tied up in knots, and I'm going to work them loose if I have to leave bruises."

He began to massage deeply. After a few moments, the pain eased as the muscles loosened. Ethan worked the back of his neck, pressing hard with his thumbs, then moved down. He put his palms flat on either side of Fox's backbone, heels facing. With quick, hard pushes, he moved down either side of the spine. Cartilage crackled, and Fox groaned. "You okay?"

"Yeah. DAMN, that feels good." Hunt wasn't a big guy, but he sure as hell had strong hands, and a lot of upper body strength. He continued massaging, working out the tension. Fox started to feel drowsy. He also started to feel a familiar hot heaviness in his groin, which he studiously ignored. People often got erections when they got massages. It didn't mean anything.

Ethan finally paused, hands resting on the small of Fox's back. "Fox?" His voice was a whisper. "You asleep?"

Fox had his eyes closed. He didn't move, didn't speak. He was curious, and half afraid, to see what Ethan would do.

Ethan's fingers made small circles, brushing the waistband of his shorts. Then he shifted, and Fox felt the comforter settle over him. Ethan's hand rested in the middle of his back again for a moment, then he got up, and Fox heard him walk back to the bedroom.

Fox was just a few seconds away from sleep, but somehow he had time to wonder why he was feeling vaguely disappointed.

He awoke to the smell of coffee and stumbled into the kitchen. A fully dressed Ethan was pouring a cup, and he glanced at Fox. "Good morning, merry sunshine."

"Hi." Fox scratched his head.

"How do you take it?"

"Just sugar."

"Like Daniel. Good." Ethan stirred a couple of spoonfuls of sugar into the dark brew and handed it to him, then poured another.

Fox closed his eyes and inhaled the fragrant steam. "Damn, I bet I can get a buzz just smelling this."

"It's pretty strong."

Fox took a sip, and sighed. "Perfect. You know, the ironic thing is that the people who most NEED a cup of coffee in the morning are the ones who are least able to function well enough to prepare it without a cup of coffee first."

"If you can function well enough to operate the toaster, there's bread. Or Pop Tarts, if you're feeling decadent."

"What kind of Pop Tarts?"

Ethan checked the box. "Chocolate Fudge."

"With or without sprinkles?"

"Damn, you're picky. With."

"Gimme." Fox ripped open a package, reading the box. "Fuck. Did you know that they consider a serving to be one Pop Tart, but they package them in twos? Like I'm going to leave one in the bag and clip it shut for tomorrow." He bit into one of the pastries.

Ethan's eyebrows rose. "Aren't you going to toast those?"

"Why?"

"Barbarian."

"You toast the brown sugar-cinnamon ones, then slather them with butter."

"Finish that disgusting nonsense and get dressed. We need to go outfit you with luggage and toiletries today."

"Can I use your razor?"

Ethan watched as Fox chewed, his strong jaw flexing. He reached over and stroked the other man's jaw, feeling the bristles. "Nah. Leave it till we get back. Makes you look sexy." He plucked an apple out of the fruit bowl on the counter, snapped a bite out of it, and strolled into the dining room. Fox stared after him, then swallowed the mouthful of pastry he'd been holding, shrugged, and followed him out.

Ethan went down to check the mailbox. Once again there were envelopes, and a package. All of them without address, return address, or postage. He went back upstairs and dropped removed the contents, then put the packing through the shredder. One of the papers that came in the mail listed preferred brands of personal care products, and Ethan scanned it before folding it and stuffing it in his pocket.

Fox came out of the bedroom, buttoning up a navy linen shirt. His eyes caught and reflected the color, looking more blue than anything else. Ethan watched as he stuffed his shirt tail down into his jeans, trying to make it neat. "Didn't your mother teach you how to dress, Fox? You're supposed to do that BEFORE you zip up."

"It's not my fault if these things are so tight I can't get my hand down the back."

"Daniel wears them tight. Connor likes to look at his butt. Hold still." Ethan had gone behind him. Fox jumped as his hand smoothed down his back and slid, flat, under his waistband in back. "I said hold still!" Fox felt a tug on the back of his shirt, and the wrinkles smoothed out. "There." Ethan slid his hand out and patted Fox on the back. "Let's go."

*Alright, Fox, technically speaking, the man DID have his hand on your ass. But nothing HAPPENED, it didn't MEAN anything.*

"FOX!"

"Keep your shirt on, I'm coming."

They had to go to four luggage stores to find the exact right bags. The sales clerk just couldn't understand why he couldn't argue Ethan into one that had more features for a lower price. "Well," he said, ringing up their purchases. "It's nice to have someone who's so SURE about what they want, anyway."

Ethan watched Fox, who was examining a display of wallets. "I know EXACTLY what I want."

At the local Macy's, they went to the men's section in cosmetics. Mulder was scowling. "I'm not gonna have to wear MAKEUP, am I? Daniel didn't look femme to me."

"No, you're not. I wouldn't put it past him to start using some concealer in a few years, though. No, we're just here for you usual toiletries."

"We can't get those at a supermarket?"

"Please. Daniel would probably break out in hives if he went anywhere near a Safeway." So, once again, Fox watched in silence as Ethan wore out the credit card purchasing luxury items that would keep him in style.

"L'Eau d'Issey Pour Homme All Over Shampoo? All over?"

"Moisturizes the skin."

"Forty dollars for less than seven ounces? Geez. And Grabazzi Shave Cream? I could buy a six months supply for that price."

"Nag, nag, nag. Are you REALLY such a cheap date, Mulder, or is this protesting for form's sake? It's not like you're going to be expected to PAY for any of this. Just relax and enjoy being pampered." Fox muttered something. "What's that?"

"I said it's funny how I can get all this expensive stuff, but I still feel cheap."

"We'll need to discuss that attitude over lunch."

"Can we have pizza?"

"I don't see why not."

Later Mulder sat back in a comfortably padded chair, staring around at the elegant restaurant Ethan had chosen. "This is NOT a pizza place. No oilcloth tablecloths, no plastic grapes hanging from the ceiling, and not a single wine bottle with wax dripped all over it."

"We can get pizza here, don't worry." When the waiter came, he ordered, in Italian.

"Don't I get any say in this?"

"No." Ethan calmly drank a little wine. "Look, Fox, we need to start getting into character. Connor controls things. He gives Daniel some leeway, but basically treats him like a spoiled child. And let's be frank, that's how Daniel acts most of the time. You're just going to have to get used to deferring to me. It's alright to tug on the leash occasionally, they'll expect that. But they'll also expect me to slap you back into line if you go too far. You've seen that sort of relationship before."

"Yeah, with women. I never could understand why they didn't leave."

"Some people have dependent personalities. Daniel's the sort who needs a `daddy'. Connor's younger than they usually are, but he's very top. And you need to stop thinking of Daniel as using Connor. This is a two way relationship. Connor knows that money and luxury are important to Daniel, and he's perfectly willing to provide them. In return, Daniel gives him the companionship and passion that Connor craves. If there's any using going on, it's mutual."

The food was brought to the table, and Fox eyed it suspiciously. Ethan helped himself and began eating. "Go on. You wanted pizza."

"It looks funny."

"This is a gourmet restaurant, Fox. Were you expecting Geno's?"

"It has green stuff on it. What is it?"

"This has a pesto sauce, topped with grilled chicken and shrimp, Portobelo mushrooms, and five cheeses: Feta, Fontana, mozzarella, Parmesan, and Romano, on a whole wheat crust. Try it."

"You sure they aren't trying to slip broccoli or spinach in there?"

"Why haven't you gotten rickets? Eat it." Grumbling, Fox took a slice and bit into it gingerly. Ethan watched him, and saw him make a face. "Well?"

Fox took another bite before answering. "Alright, it's good."

"Told you." Ethan took a soft bread stick out of the basket on the table and broke it in half, dipping it in the melted butter/garlic sauce that had accompanied it. "You've got to trust me, Fox." He ate a few bites, then licked his fingers and smiled at the other man. "I'm going to know what you'll like."

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 7

The first thing that Fox did upon returning to the apartment was to get out of his shoes and socks. He sat on the couch, rubbing his feet. Ethan noticed that Fox had long, elegantly shaped feet, rather aristocratic looking. Very mobile toes. He wondered if they curled when Mulder reached climax. He'd have to remember to check.

Fox saw him watching. "Well, new shoes pinch sometimes, and I was on my feet a lot." he said defensively.

"I didn't say anything. You get just as comfortable as you like. Take off anything that feels too confining."

Fox frowned as Hunt went to the dining room table and started sorting through the new batch of information. *He's so flippant. I think he's enjoying teasing me. Must like making the Feeb feel like a dork.* Fox had no idea how right he was about Ethan's pleasure in teasing him, and no idea how wrong he was about the motive he assumed was driving the other agent. Fox wasn't used to being courted by another man.

"I'm going to need the name of your optometrist, so we can get some contacts made to your prescription. You'll have to start wearing them as soon as possible, so you can deal with them convincingly."

"Won't you need written permission for them to release my personal information?" Hunt just looked at him. "Right. Silly me." Fox wrote down the name of the doctor, and his office address. "So, what, will your people break in and rifle through his records?"

"You really don't need to know that." Ethan went to the computer, signed on, and got on the Internet. "But if it's any consolation, that'll only happen if his records aren't on file on a computer hooked to the Internet." He typed in the information off the scrap of paper, then closed the program.

"Is there ANY information about me you can't get?"

Ethan regarded him blandly. "Not much."

"Shit. The Lone Gunmen are seeming more sane all the time."

"Interesting people."

"You don't mean to tell me...Never mind. I don't want to know."

"Very wise. They didn't send us much on Daniel today, just his school records." He flipped through the pages, then handed them over to Fox. "Looks like he just barely managed to keep from getting expelled on a regular basis, mostly for breaking curfew. He was sneaking out to local bars."

Fox scanned the top page. "Whoa, Somerset Academy. Mommy and Daddy were willing to expend some serious bucks on Daniel. Plus they must've registered him about two seconds after the sonogram confirmed he was a boy. That place isn't easy to get into." He sat down and began studying.

Ethan started to go through a list of Galbraith's business contacts, taking particular note of the satisfaction he seemed to have had in his dealings with each one. It wouldn't do to express too high a regard for someone who'd fucked up a transaction, or slight someone who'd made the Irishman a considerable profit.

"Huh."

Ethan looked at Fox. "What?"

"Daniel DID get expelled, his junior year. Ended up taking his GED. That's apparently what kept him out of an Ivy League college."

"Why was he expelled?"

"One of those illicit trips to a bar."

"One too many times, eh?"

"Not so much that as the fact that two guys got in a fight over him. He was letting one of them buy him drinks, then he slipped off to the men's room with the other. Guy number one was not happy."

"It says all that in the school record?" Ethan was surprised. Usually those exclusive, old money schools were a little more discrete, even with their private records.

"No. It says that in the police report that came with it. And..." Fox winced. "Oo, they REALLY shouldn't have locked him up with the adult offenders. One of them didn't take kindly to him saying no, and laid his shoulder open with a sharpened wire."

"That's one of the points you didn't match. They should have a diagram or photo of it later on. We'll have to take care of it."

Fox sat up abruptly. "You are NOT carving on me!"

"Will you chill? God, haven't you seen any movies lately? They can work wonders with appliances. We can fix you up with a fake that will fool anyone except maybe a plastic surgeon, and it'll stay on till we take it off. I don't know what YOU'RE bitching about. I'M going to be sporting your...well...Daniel's initials." He touched himself just where the curve of his left hipbone lay. "Right here."

"Yeah? You didn't love me enough to get the whole name?" Ethan threw a paper at him. "I guess it could always be worse. They could be pierced."

Straight faced, Ethan said," I think they're waiting for their fifth anniversary for that. Gonna have a double ring ceremony."

"Ow. I can't understand people poking holes in their bodies for decoration."

"I dunno." Ethan reached over and gently pinched Fox's left earlobe. "I think you'd look sexy with a little diamond stud, or maybe a gold hoop."

Fox froze as Ethan's thumb stroked over his earlobe. He felt an insane desire to tuck his head against his shoulder, trapping the hand. Then it was withdrawn, and Hunt was studying his material. Fox shuffled the papers before him, and tried to get back his concentration. Daniel had racked up dozens of parking tickets. Seems like he felt privileged to park anywhere he felt like.

Ethan watched Fox out of the corner of his eye. The FBI agent shifted nervously after the touch. He watched as Fox unconsciously rubbed at his ear, then let his hand slide back to massage his neck. That was nice. The only thing almost as good as touching a sexy man was watching him touch himself.

He'd give Fox one more night on the couch, he decided. Then he'd start to push. It wouldn't be too difficult to convince him that it was necessary for the mission, that he needed to get acclimate to the situation BEFORE they were on assignment. Once he had him in bed, he'd see. He might need to wait another day before he made his move, maybe even two.

But it was going to happen, he had no doubt of that. Fox was just too sensitive to his touch. He was skittish, but not phobic. *Probably a virgin, at least with men. Isn't that sweet?*

Ethan was finding that, not only did he desire Mulder, but that he genuinely liked him. The FBI agent was quick, intelligent, and had a dry, off-beat sense of humor. Ethan even liked Fox's fascination with the unknown and unexplained. It meant he was curious, and probably open to...new experiences.

The thing to do, Ethan thought, was to build interest gradually, just as he had been doing. A little innuendo, a light, unexpected touch here and there. Make Fox very aware of him, surround him. Ethan was enjoying this. He didn't get to spend a lot of time with people in his profession. The subtleties of seduction often had to be passed over in favor of a more direct approach.

*I probably could have had him last night. I know he got hard, and it wasn't easy, not sliding my hands under there and grabbing him. Just about two inches away from that ass... Yeah, I could have had him. But he wasn't ready for it. And he deserves to be seduced. He's worth a little extra time and effort.*

The more practical, less romantic, side of his nature told him that it would be good for the mission. Actual physical intimacy would give their interaction that extra air of credibility that might mean the difference between success, and disaster.

"Fox, we need to start relating to each other as Daniel and Connor, so it will seem natural by the time we get to Columbia. We can start gradually. From now on, when we're out in public, I'm Connor and you're Daniel. As you get more comfortable with it, we'll spend more time in character."

"Yes, dear."

"Smart ass."

"One of the many reasons you love me."

After a meal of sandwiches, they sat down to watch the video tape that had come with that morning's information. The scene this time was obviously in some sort of club. The lighting was dim, except for the colored flashes that swept by every few minutes, and heavy techno-dance music throbbed in the background.

The focus was on a small, circular booth. Connor and Daniel were already seated, Connor on the inside. Daniel seemed to be pouting about something. He kept pettishly brushing off Connor's attempts to jog him out of his funk. Then a handsome blonde man approached the table, and asked Daniel to dance.

Connor put a hand on Daniel's arm, but Daniel shook him off. With a cold glance at his lover, Ballard got up and moved out of frame, following the blonde. Connor stared after them, his expression dark. "Uh oh." Fox commented. "Looks like trouble in paradise."

"Danny's punishing him for something. But judging from the look on Galbraith's face, he isn't going to take it lying down."

Connor watched whatever action was going on off screen, his anger building. His dark brows drew down in a scowl, and his lips thinned. At last Daniel returned, followed by the blonde. He stood near the booth, back to Connor, speaking flirtatiously to his dance partner.

Finally Connor reached out, grabbed Daniel by the back of his belt, and jerked him down into the booth. Daniel gave a startled squawk as he landed, Connor's arm snaking around him to hold him fast. Connor's voice was very cool, and very plain. "My husband forgets himself sometimes. Go find someone else to talk to." The interloper backed off quickly.

Daniel squirmed. "Con, let go of me! How dare you embarrass me like that!"

"Oh, it's me embarrassing you, is it?" Connor dragged Daniel deeper into the booth. "Was it me out there acting the slut with a stranger?"

Daniel pulled at his hands, trying to get free. "Just stop it! You like to watch me dance, I know you do."

"But I wanted you to sit with me, and you knew that. You've been trying to punish me for missing the ski trip, and I won't have it. I've business to attend to right now, and you're not going alone. That's final."

"I don't WANT to go alone, Con! I want to go with YOU. Isn't that the whole fucking point of being in a relationship? I've hardly seen you at all this week, outside of business. I'm lonely."

"Jesus, and THIS is how you get attention? Idiot child!"

Daniel suddenly looked as if he might cry, and Connor's manner softened immediately. "Ah, don't take on so." His grip became an embrace, rather than a confinement. He kissed Daniel's temple. "I shouldn't complain. You are what you are. And I HAVE neglected you of late."

"Yes, you have." Daniel agreed.

"My poor pretty." Connor kissed him gently. Fox could see the soft flicker of tongue, and Daniel sighed, leaning against his lover. Connor's hand moved down under the table, and Ballard's eyes opened wide, then half closed. "You need to be petted a bit more, don't you, love?"

"Don't, Con." Daniel's voice was breathy, meek.

"Sh, pet." Connor's hand moved slowly. "Be still."

"Damn," Mulder whispered. "Tell me he's not giving him a hand job right out there in the club."

"Yes," Ethan was watching raptly. "That does appear to be what's happening."

The Irishman pressed against his lover, licking and kissing his throat. He fastened his mouth on a patch of skin and began to suck and bite, drawing the blood to the surface. Daniel clutched at his shoulders, biting his lip. He whined, and Connor's hand stopped moving. "Quiet, sweetheart. Quiet, or I won't let you finish."

Daniel moaned. "Please, Con. I want to cum."

"So you shall, pet. But you must be quiet about it." He took Ballard's chin in his hand, forcing him to look in his face. "I know how much you enjoy making your noises, Danny. This is your punishment. Be quiet, or I don't let you cum. Do you understand?"

Daniel gave a sobbing gasp. "Yes. But please..."

"Show me you can be quiet." Daniel closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. After a moment Connor murmured, "That's my good boy." and began to stroke again. In a few minutes, Connor grabbed a handful of cocktail napkins and drew them under the table. An instant later, Daniel stiffened, head tossing back, whimpering.

He went limp, collapsing in his lover's embrace, and whispered. "Sorry, Con. I...I couldn't..."

"Sh, baby." Connor tossed the soiled napkins on the floor. He stroked Daniel's hair. "It's alright." He waved a waitress over, and ordered a fresh round of drinks. "I'll see about a trip next month. I promise."

There was only a few more minutes on the tape. The two men finished their drinks and left, Connor steering Daniel with a hand at the small of his back. Ethan hit rewind. "Do you need to see that again?"

"No. I'm fine."

"I think I need to see that again. It's a very clear example of their relationship dynamics."

Fox got up. "I'm taking a shower."

"Do that." Ethan watched Fox disappear into the bedroom. *And I'll just pretend that I didn't notice that you had a nice hard on pressed against the fly of those tight jeans, shall I?*

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 8

The couch, Mulder decided, was not getting any more comfortable. *I need sheets. Leather looks great, but it's hell to sleep on bare legged. I keep sticking.*

He found himself half wishing that Ethan would come out and offer him another back rub. But he quashed that idea quickly. Ethan was asleep. He'd have to wake up, and be aware that Fox couldn't sleep. The last time that had been because Fox was watching the video. Well, he wasn't going to be re-watching THIS one. *Not any time while he's around, anyway. That was kinda...interesting, though.*

Almost surreal, actually. Almost like watching himself have a sexual experience that had never happened. He'd never even come CLOSE to anything like that. The funny thing was, he could almost imagine what it was like.

He went to clubs. That probably would have surprised most people who knew him. Or thought they knew him. A dim, quiet bar they would have expected. He knew they could easily picture him sitting at the end of a bar, nursing a drink, maybe getting drunk enough to totally freak out some bartender or half in the bag fellow drinker with X Files tales. But Fox at home in noise, bustle, synergy? Too far fetched.

No, he went to clubs. And he danced. There was usually someone to dance with, but it wasn't necessary. That was the good thing about the clubs. People who were alone could go there and be alone together.

And sometimes he wasn't alone the entire night. Sometimes there was a trip out to one car or another. Gropings, alcohol flavored kisses, a disarrangement of clothes, and a few moments of *aw, shit, yeah, might as well admit it* almost perfunctory sex. Sometimes he could even remember their name the next day, and it had always been women.

He frowned up at the ceiling. *Is my mind playing tricks on me, or has it always been them who made the actual suggestion? I MUST have put the moves on a few of them.* He kept thinking, racking his brain, and for the life of him couldn't come up with a single clear incident.

Well, shit, this was getting him nowhere. He got up and went to the kitchen to get a beer. Fox leaned back against the counter, twisting off the cap. When did they stop making the type you had to pry off? Mulder closed his eyes and took a long swallow.

Was it his imagination, or did the beer go flat faster these days? He missed the old caps. Flipping them off had been part of the mystique of beer drinking. The old church key opener was sort of a symbol of manhood. If you were a kid, you didn't have an excuse to carry one, because all the soda pop machines had openers attached to the side. So "What are you planning to use that thing on, son?" The cool guys would snap the caps off against a counter. The stupid ones would open them with their teeth. He wondered if dentists were sorry to see the invention of twist off caps.

"Can't sleep again?"

Fox almost jumped out of his skin. He opened his eyes to find Ethan standing about a foot away. Damn, the man was quiet. "Don't DO that!"

"You're safe enough here, but you're going to have to do better than that out in the field, Fox." He reached out and put his hand lightly against Fox's throat, and Mulder swallowed. "I could've had you twice by now."

"I'm not that easy to kill."

Ethan opened the refrigerator and got himself a beer. Cracking it open, he took a drink, then looked at Fox archly. "Who said anything about killing you?"

Fox was suddenly aware of exactly how little clothing they were both wearing. Tonight Ethan's briefs were black. Fox had on a T-shirt, and wished that he had his own boxers instead of the skimpy jockeys Ethan had bought him. There was something unsettling and intimate about this: standing in the darkened kitchen, wearing underwear provided by the barely clad man beside him.

Having absolutely no idea how to react to the last statement, Fox reacted by not reacting at all. He ignored it, but he drank about half of his brew in one gulp.

"You're gonna give yourself a headache, doing that," Ethan predicted.

As he finished speaking, a bolt of agony lanced across Fox's head. He squinted, wincing. "Ow! What did you do, curse me?"

"Shit, didn't your mama teach you not to take cold things too quick?" He set down his own beer and reached toward Fox, who pulled back. "Hold still, dammit. I'm trying to help."

Ethan's fingers, cool from holding the chilled bottle, settled on Mulder's temples, and began to massage. Slowly the easy pressure seemed to release the vice that had clamped down on his skull. The pain began to fade. Ethan was speaking. "The only thing that really helps a cold headache is when the temperature gets back to normal, but this is kind of soothing in the meantime."

"Thanks." Fox murmured, eyes still closed. He sighed. Ethan's fingers, strong and gentle, continued rubbing in circles. "That feels good." The fingers slid back into his hair, massaging his scalp, then moved down to work on the back of his neck. Fox suddenly realized that, like this, Ethan was almost embracing him.

He opened his eyes. Ethan was very close. There was only a few inches of space between them. He was looking into Fox's face, his expression unreadable. But even in the dim light that glowed over the stove, Fox could see how green Hunt's eyes were.

Fox cleared his throat, and pulled back fractionally. Ethan's hands dropped. "Headache gone?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Da nada." He stepped away and picked up his beer. "If you're really having THAT hard a time sleeping, you ought to come in the bedroom. You need to be well rested. That bed's plenty big enough for two people without being crowded."

Fox shifted uncomfortably. "I'm okay."

"Fox, you're being silly. You're depriving yourself of rest just because you're afraid to be alone in the dark with another man?"

Fox bristled, as Ethan knew he would. "Don't be ridiculous." He started to walk out. Behind him, he heard a very creditable clucking sound, and whirled around. "Are you calling me chicken?" Ethan's eyes were wide and innocent. He spread his fingers on his chest in a 'who, me?' gesture. Fox glared, and left the room, stomping as best he could with bare feet.

Ethan chuckled, and lifted the last of his beer in a toast to that spectacular ass. He whispered, "But you ARE chicken, Fox. Pure white meat."

When Ethan went out into the living room, there was no pillow, no comforter, and no Mulder. Ethan pumped his fist in the air, silently mouthing, "YES!" Then he composed his expression into blandness and went into the bedroom.

Fox was on the near side of the bed, stretched out on his stomach, head resting on folded arms, face turned away. *The only thing wrong with this picture is that he's not naked. That will change.*

Ethan walked around to his side of the bed, and slid under the sheet. Fox's eyes were closed. He wasn't asleep. Ethan knew damn good and well that he was awake. But Fox's body was not tensed, he seemed to rest easy. Hunt studied his face. Thick lashes, almost reaching to sculpted cheekbones. Straight, strong nose, full mouth. *Mouth, _Mouth_, MOUTH! Damn, that is a sexy mouth. Pretty soon I'm going to have to just kiss him stupid, then see what else we can figure out for him to do with that mouth.*

Thinking about the possibilities, Ethan went to sleep with a smile on his face.

Fox awoke with a pleasant, but unfamiliar, scent teasing him. What was it? He sorted through his olfactory memory, searching for it. There was soap, he recognized that. Some other spicy smell, and just a hint of clean sweat. Fox opened his eyes to find that his face was pressed against Ethan Hunt's bare shoulder. So, that's what it was. Ethansmell.

Moving very slowly and carefully, Fox pulled away, thankful that Hunt was still asleep. How had Mulder wandered all the way over to this side of the bed? Once he managed to fall asleep, he wasn't really a restless sleeper, not a whole lot of thrashing around. Well, he didn't THINK there was, anyway. Actually, he hadn't slept with enough people in his life to get an informed opinion of his own sleep habits.

Ethan yawned, and shifted onto his side. Fox slipped out of bed and eased to the bathroom. He needed to pee. He had a morning erection, and that was NOT something he cared to have the man he'd been sharing a bed with know. He peed copiously, sighing in relief.

The hard on didn't go away. "Oh shit." Fox muttered. He stared at his rebellious member, willing it to subside. "Come on, already. I peed. What else do you want?" He paused. "Don't answer that." Fox stripped quickly, stepped into the shower, and turned the cold water on full blast. A yelp escaped him before he could bite it back.

"Fox? You okay?" He heard padding footsteps over the hissing of the water.

*Damn.* "Yeah, I'm fine. Water's just a little cold, that's all."

Ethan was in the bathroom. Fox could see his wavering outline through the frosted glass of the shower door. "What, is the hot water out?"

Fox stood dumbfound as the door slid open a couple of inches, and Ethan's hand poked in, under the spray. "Damn! No wonder you yelled. Are you trying to get hypothermia or something?" He reached down and turned on the hot, testing the water till it ran just past lukewarm. "There." The hand was withdrawn, and the door slid shut. "I thought you took a shower last night, anyway?"

"I just felt like another one."

"Good way to start the morning."

*Oh, Christ.* Fox watched as Ethan's blurred figure moved to the toilet, fumbled with his shorts, and peed. *Look away, Fox. Look away.* He didn't. Ethan finished, shook, and tucked himself away.

"Hurry up. You need to get shots, and we have to have new passport photos taken today." He strolled out.

Fox sighed, and looked down at his once again engorged cock. He reached for the hot water, twisting it off as he called, "It may be a few minutes."

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 9

When Fox came into the kitchen, Ethan asked him, "Do you still need coffee to wake up after that shower?"

"I need coffee to get my heart started." He poured himself a cup, and inhaled the rich aroma before taking the first sip. He sighed contentedly.

"Addict."

"Drug of choice." Fox sniffed, and peered into a sizzling pan on the stove. "Onions? At this time of the morning?"

Ethan was whisking eggs. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not have crunch in my omelette."

Fox watched as Ethan poured the eggs into a hot, greased pan, tilting it so that they spread evenly. As they turned opaque on the bottom, he lifted the edges with a spatula, tilting the pan so that the uncooked mixture ran under. When the surface was only moist instead of wet, he sprinkled it with the onion, and grated cheese and cubed ham. Then he neatly folded it in half, lightly pressing the edges. He glanced at Fox, then, with a quick twist of his wrist, flipped the omelette in the air lightly, and slid it off onto a plate.

"Damn!" Fox muttered. "I tried to cook an omelette once. Once. It took me three hours to clean the kitchen. I threw it out, and the neighbor's dog got mysteriously ill the next day."

Ethan cut the omelette in half and slid part onto a second plate, handing it to Fox. "Yeah, well, don't sweat it. You don't have to cook. Someone will marry you just for your looks."

"I want to be loved for my mind."

"If it's dirty enough, you'll be loved for it. Sit down to eat that. You'll get indigestion." They went out into the dining area, and Ethan sat opposite him. Fox rapidly emptied his plate, then sat back with a replete sigh. "Well?"

"The plate is clean."

"I noticed that. I'm surprised you didn't scrape the pattern off it."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Is that what you're planning on wearing?"

Fox looked down at the cranberry colored silk shirt and black pants. "No, I thought I'd wear the pink tutu. What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing. But we're having the passport photos taken. Wear your blazer."

"Yes, Dad."

"The correct term is 'daddy'."

"Um." Fox got up and went to get the blazer.

Ethan wondered if Fox was consciously flirting back at him, or if he thought he was just teasing Ethan. Probably wasn't sure where smart ass left off and flirting began.

He went and got his own jacket, joining Fox in the living room. Fox spread his arms. "Happy?"

"Almost." Ethan buttoned the jacket, then hooked his finger in the breast pocket. "Remind me to get you a show handkerchief to fold in here."

"Oh, for crying out loud!"

"Detail, Fox." He paused. "Details, Daniel."

"Yes, Con."

"Empty your wallet out." He handed Fox an envelope. "Put everything in here. We'll have it put somewhere safe till this is over."

Fox stripped his wallet of everything but cash, stuffing it in the envelope, then sealing it. He didn't like doing this. He was used to always having his ID with him, it was an integral part of being an FBI agent. You had to be ready to identify yourself at all times. This made him uncomfortable. It was like his identity was being stripped away. It made him feel...raw, somehow. Exposed. Vulnerable.

Hunt seemed to sense something of what he was feeling. "You're not losing yourself. You're...just taking a vacation from your life for awhile. It doesn't really matter what the pieces of paper say, does it?" He tapped Fox's chest. "You're still you, here."

Downstairs he exchanged the envelope containing Fox's papers for one that was already in the mailbox, handing it to Fox. Mulder ripped it open and found a driver's license, social security card, gym membership card, credit cards, even a partially filled video rental redemption card, all in the name of Daniel Ballard.

The photo on the license was the same that graced Fox's own. The physical information was the same, except for the weight. Daniel weighed about five pounds more than Fox. Good, everyone would think he'd been losing weight. Daniel wasn't a donor, though. Selfish bastard. Ethan waited while he stowed the items in his wallet.

The first stop was a small medical practice building. In an office waiting room, Ethan went directly to the check in counter. "Galbraith and Ballard. We're here for our travel immunizations."

"Certainly, sir. Just sign in, and have a seat." Ethan scratched 'Connor Galbraith' on the sheet, then handed it over to Fox. He looked at Ethan for a moment, then signed 'Daniel Ballard'.

When they sat, he murmured, "Shouldn't I practice 'my' signature?"

"Yes, you should. I was going to bring that up later. Good catch. I'm getting more and more confident in you, Danny."

There was a stack of magazines on the table before them, and Fox started to sort through them. His hand hovered over a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, then he bypassed it and picked up an International Male Catalogue. Ethan smiled in approval. The catalogue was notorious for the sensual pictures of male models in skimpy attire, and was exactly what Daniel would have zeroed in on.

Ethan casually threw an arm across the back of Fox's chair, and peered over at the catalogue. He tapped a page. "You'd look good in that."

"Those sleeves? I'd look like Errol Flynn getting ready to swash some buckle."

"You can swash my buckle any time." Ethan saw the color sweep up Mulder's cheeks. *Oh, I have GOT to make a play for you soon, Foxy.*

A middle aged nurse came to the counter. "Mr. Ballard, Mr. Galbraith? Follow me, please." They followed her back into a surprisingly twisty maze of corridors and exam rooms. Finally they were ushered into a typical looking exam room. "The doctor will we with you momentarily."

As she left, Ethan took the one chair. Fox looked around a moment, then perched on the exam table, long legs dangling. "Most doctors need appointments and medical records and insurance information before you get past the dragons at the front desk." It wasn't stated as a question, but that's what it was.

Ethan nodded. "Most doctors."

"Yeah, I guess you would have to have some discrete medical help in your line of work."

"Our line of work."

A small Asian man in a white lab coat bustled into the room. He offered them a blinding smile, and shook hands. "Mr. Bridger, wonderful to see you again. Mr. Ballard. Going abroad, are we?"

"A little jaunt to Columbia, Doctor Ling. No more than a week or so. But Daniel isn't up on his vaccinations, and I can't risk having him get sick."

"Well, that's easily taken care of." Fox felt vaguely like he had as a child at the pediatrician's, listening to his father and the doctor discuss his medical care.

The doctor removed a capped, disposable syringe from his jacket pocket. "We'll give you the gamma gobulin first. I assume that this trip will be soon?"

"In a little more than a week and a half."

"Hm. Well, you won't want the typhoid injection, then. That might make him ill, and it's very uncomfortable. We have a new oral medication he can take over a weeks time. Four capsules, one every other day." Fox was removing his blazer. "No, no, Mr. Ballard. You really don't want to take this in the arm. Haven't you ever had a gamma gobulin shot before?"

"No."

"They're very strong. They need to be injected into a much larger muscle mass."

Fox looked pained. "Not in the butt?"

The doctor smiled. "No, no, not the buttock. Just the hip. We wouldn't want you to have a bruise on your sit-down. Very uncomfortable. Now, lower your pants, please."

Grumbling, Fox reached for his belt. He hesitated, looking at Ethan. Ethan just folded his hands and returned his look. Mulder undid his belt and opened his pant, then lowered them halfway down his thighs. Ethan wished that he HAD removed his jacket. The hem obscured his view of Fox's ass.

The doctor uncapped the syringe and pushed the plunger till a bead of liquid oozed from the needle. Fox hooked a thumb in the waistband of his briefs and dragged it down a few inches. The rather elegant curve of his hip was exposed, with a small expanse of pale buttock. Ethan wet his lips, thinking about running his hand along that curve, gripping it and pulling Fox close... He looked up to find Fox watching him. Ethan didn't try to disguise the interest in his eyes, and Fox looked away quickly.

The doctor swabbed Mulder's skin with alcohol, chilling it. Then he framed a section of skin at Fox's hip and said, "Alright, Mr. Ballard. I won't lie to you, this will hurt. But I need you to stand very still. I have to give you this injection slowly. Are you ready?"

"Just a second." Fox took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. "Okay." The bite of the needle was like a hornet sting, hot and sharp. "Jesus." His hands gripped the side of the table."

"Hang on, Danny." Ethan's voice was encouraging.

"Half way done." the doctor murmured.

*He wasn't fucking kidding, it would hurt.* The pain radiated, making the entire area covered by the doctor's hand ache. Finally the sting lessened a little, and he felt the doctor swabbing him again with alcohol.

"There. Done."

Fox gingerly rubbed the throbbing spot. "Damn, you'd think that with all the medical research, they'd come up with something a little less painful." He pulled up his pants and refastened them.

"You took that very well." The doctor solemnly pulled a purple sucker out of his jacket pocket and offered it to Fox. "For bravery."

Fox frowned. "Don't you have any red?" Just as solemnly, the doctor produced a red one, and handed it to Fox.

"What about cholera?" Ethan asked, standing up.

"Well, you generally don't have to worry about that, if you're careful about your water and your food. But since that isn't always possible...What we have available isn't really that reliable. There's an oral medication available in Canada or Europe that's much more effective." He cocked his head and said brightly. "Pity the FDA hasn't approved it yet."

"Yes, isn't it."

"You can go on out to the front. I'll send the medicines up with the nurse." He bustled out.

"Hey, wait a minute," Fox protested. "What about you? Don't you have to get a shot?"

"Danny, I STAY current on mine."

They went up to the front, and Ethan paid the desk clerk. As he was finishing, the nurse came out and handed him a small paper bag. "Now, be sure that he takes those as scheduled."

"I will."

On the way out to the car, Ethan said, "Something's bothering you. What is it?"

"Why does everyone keep talking around me? The medicine is for ME, but they gave it to you, and gave you instruction on making me take it. I'm starting to feel like I'm about twelve years old."

"This is how the Galbraith-Ballard relationship works. You need to get used to it...Danny."

Fox opened the bag and peered at it's contents. "There's two bottles in here, both of them with handwritten labels."

"Typhoid and cholera medicine."

"I thought he said that the cholera medicine wasn't available in the US?"

"It isn't."

"Oh."

The next stop was a small photography studio. "We could have just done this in one of those quarter photo booths, couldn't we?" Fox asked.

"We could. But you insist on the best, and I indulge you."

"I'm high maintenance, aren't I?"

"But you're worth it."

In the studio, Fox was positioned in front of a plain white backdrop. Ethan said, "Hang on." Taking a comb from his pocket, he arranged Fox's hair more to his satisfaction, giving it a final smooth with his palm. "Okay, NOW you're ready."

As the photographer snapped the picture, Fox wondered at himself. *I must be better at this assuming another person's identity than I thought I was. Having him touch me is starting to feel almost *good* normal.*

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 10

"Okay, Danny. Time for the first real test."

"Already? Is it essay, or multiple choice."

Ethan ignored the question. They were pulling into a parking lot before a substantial building. The sign at the door said 'Elysium Gym'. " This is your gym. We're going to go in and work out a little."

They got out of the car, and Ethan started for the door, but Fox hung back. Hunt paused, turning back to him. "What's wrong? Stage fright?"

"What if...if someone who looks like me shows up?"

"Not likely. He and someone who looks like me are in Ireland right now." Ethan smiled. "He's visiting the in laws. Or, in this case, outlaws."

Fox groaned. "That joke was old when they used it in the Disney version of 'Robin Hood'. What about work out clothes?"

"Thanks for reminding me." He opened the trunk and pulled the new small case he'd bought for Fox. "I put some in the trunk while you were showering."

Every objection was met. Fox followed Ethan into the building. Fox looked around the entrance area. Nice. Plush carpets, rich paneling , subdued lighting. He had a feeling that the equipment room was going to be spectacularly stocked. Daniel DID believe that he deserved the best.

The counter was manned by a muscular man in a tank top with the gym's logo on it. It strained over a sculpted physique. It wasn't until Fox noticed that his inch long buzz cut was steel grey that he realized that the man must be in his mid fifties. He greeted Fox with a warm smile. "Mr. Ballard, always a pleasure to see you, sir. I thought you were in Ireland this week."

"Change of plans." Fox modulated his voice a little, making it softer and adding a tinge of southern accent to it. He pulled out his wallet, and handed over his membership card. The man took it without question, and pushed a registry book toward him.

"Mr. Galbraith, will you be joining Mr. Ballard, or would you prefer to wait in the lounge?"

"Oh, I'll come along." He ran a hand teasingly across Fox's shoulder. "Can't let this one get too much stronger than me, can I now?" There was the faint hint of Ireland in Ethan's voice. Fox doubted that anyone could tell the difference between his voice and Connor's without a voice print.

They received a key, and went into the locker room. Daniel had locker 36, and Fox located it. It was a full sized one, with plenty of room to hang up both his and Ethan's clothes neatly. Hangers were provided. "Class operation, all the way."

Ethan was stripping out of his clothes. "They'll steam press your stuff for you while you work out, if you ask. Come on, Daniel. Before the lunch hour crowd takes up all the good equipment." Bare chested, he was hanging up his jacket. As he finished speaking, he started to unbuckle his pants.

Fox turned away and began undressing himself. *Daniel's an exhibitionist. Don't act shy, don't hesitate. Just be casual.* When he turned back to get his own set of workout clothes out of the bag, Ethan was just pulling a T-shirt over his head. Fox watched as his head popped through, and he gave it a quick shake, tossing the shaggy black hair out of his eyes. Sitting down on a bench, Hunt began to pull on a pair of athletic shoes. "Danny, as luscious as you look in your briefs, I don't think they'll let you in the weight room like that." Fox scrambled into the shorts and T-shirt, put away his own clothes, locked the locker, and followed Ethan out into the gym.

Fox looked around. There seemed to be every expensive, state-of-the-art exercise machine in existence. Ethan went to one immediately and began doing leg lifts. After a moment's thought, Fox chose a treadmill. He wasn't much for pumping iron, but he jogged on a regular basis. He started off slowly, then set a good, steady medium pace, and settled in for his run.

Ethan chose machines where he could keep an eye on his partner. It was nice, having something to watch while he went through the mindless repititions. Fox ran with long legged grace, muscles flowing smoothly. He seemed to have good stamina, that could come in handy. Ethan grinned to himself. *Could come in handy in a LOT of situations.*

Fox jogged, never looking left or right. Well, never turning his head. If he cut his eyes sideways, he could still see Ethan. The dark haired spy went through a thorough set of exercises, working each portion of his body. Fox usually didn't think much about his own body, but Ethan made him feel very aware of himself for some reason. He found himself comparing his own lankiness to Ethan's compact, muscular frame. Usually he saw his height as an advantage, if he thought about it at all. But Ethan made him feel gawky.

Ethan paused in his exertions. Dark, damp patches had bloomed on his T-shirt: under arms, across the chest and back, around the neckline. His face was beaded with perspiration. He pulled off the shirt, and used it to wipe his face and throat. Fox felt a sudden surge of warmth, and reached out quickly to the treadmill's controls, raising the speed. He went from a trot to a run.

Ethan watched Fox, his face enigmatic. Then he called, "That's enough for now, Danny." Fox ignored him, and kept on pounding to nowhere on the treadmill. Frowning, Ethan got up and went to him. He dialed the speed down to medium, then low, then shut it off. Fox slowed with the treadmill, finally stopping and letting the moving belt carry him back off of the machine.

Ethan moved in close to the panting man, peering up into his face. "I said that was enough. Jesus, man, are you trying to kill yourself?" Fox didn't answer, just staring at him, breath still ragged. Ethan said softly, "Tell me, Danny boy. Were your running AWAY from something, or running TO it?"

Fox silently turned and went to the locker room. He was siiting on the bench when Ethan entered. Ethan stuffed his now damp and fragrant shirt into the bag, and pulled off his shorts. "Well?"

Fox cut his eyes at him. "I'll wait till I get home to shower."

Ethan put his hands on his hips. "The hell you say. You're not getting in my jag in the state you're in, Ballard. Now get your round little ass under the shower and clean up."

"Fine!" Fox stood, and angrily began to strip out of his clothes. Ethan watched as he slammed the athletic shoes into the bag, jerked off the T-shirt, and skinned his shorts down. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic. But we can't shower in our briefs either, can we?" Ethan stepped out of his briefs, dropping them in the bag, and headed toward the shower, calling over his shoulder. "Bring the shampoo out of the bag, would you?"

Fox stayed where he was for a moment, and found himself swaying slightly on his feet. *This is a public locker room, Mulder. Nothing is going to happen here.* He removed his own underpants and found the shampoo in the bag. He took a deep breath, cast his eyes toward the ceiling, and murmured, "Please, God, I'm begging you. Don't let me get a hard on."

A gym this fancy, and they didn't have private showers. Didn't it just figure? It was a typical communal shower; a large tiled area with a row of shower heads, and drains set at intervals in the floor. Ethan was under one of the sprays, in the process of scrubbing a bar of soap into a washcloth. His legs were already dripping with foam, which was washing away under the falling water. As Fox stepped into the tiled area, he began on his arms.

Glancing at Fox, he said, "You can put it on the shelf over here." Mulder placed the shampoo on the shelf that hung on the wall near Ethan. Then he turned on the showerhead next to him, adjusting the water to a cool spray. He was tempted to use ice cold water, but was afraid that would be just a bit too obvious.

There were wash cloths and fresh soap on the shelf also, and Fox helped himself and began to wash, working quickly. He had to get this over with, and get out of there, fast. He kept his eyes lowered so he wouldn't see Ethan gliding the cloth over his chest, down his torso. He closed his eyes completely when it reached Ethan's groin, putting his head back and letting the spray hit him full in the face.

His eyes flew open when someone nudged him. Ethan, a pool of clear gel in the palm of his hand, was offering the shampoo bottle to Fox. Mulder took it numbly as Hunt slicked the shampoo into his own hair and started to scrub, working up a lather. Fox followed suit, and had another excuse to close his eyes, so he wouldn't get soap in them.

He heard Ethan's shower cut off as he put his head back under his own spray to rinse. He was startled when Ethan spoke, very close to him. "You keep your eyes closed a lot, don't you, Danny boy?" Fox opened his eyes to find a naked Ethan Hunt, towel draped over his shoulders, standing beside him. Ethat reached over and shut off the taps, and the shower drizzled to a stop. He was studying Fox. Neither moved.

Ethan lifted the towel from his own neck, and draped it around Fox's. He took one end of it, and gently swabbed beads of water from Fox's face and throat. He said quietly, "Time to go home.", took another towel from the pile on the shelf, turned, and went out to the locker room.

Fox braced a hand against the wall and closed his eyes. *Oh, God. At least I waited till he left the room to start to get hard.* He quickly wrapped the towel around his waist, grabbed another one, and walked out, tousling his hair.

Ethan was half dressed by the time he got there. Fox made sure to keep his back to the other man while he got into his briefs, and tugged on his pants. He left them unfastened as he put on his shirt, wanting to be able to get the tail inside neatly. As he started to button the shirt, Ethan stepped over and pushed his hands away.

Silently, he buttoned Fox's shirt, concentrating on the motion of his hands, slipping the buttons into the holes. When it was done, he smoothed his hands down Fox's chest. Then holding the waist band of his pants in his left hand, he carefully tucked the shirt tail in at the back, then at the sides. Then down in front.

And his hand closed over Fox's semi-hard cock, gently but firmly. Fox gasped softly, looking into his face. Ethan returned his stare, expression calm, but green eyes almost glowing. Slowly and deliberately, he stroked. Fox shuddered. Ethan nodded, then released him. He zipped up Fox's pants, closed them, and buckled his belt, then handed him his blazer, all without saying a word. Fox just stood there as Ethan packed the rest of their things in the bag and closed it. Ethan lifted the bag in one hand, took Fox's arm with the other, and led him out of the locker room.

It stretched out to be one of the longest silences Fox had ever experienced with another person. Not a word was said the entire ride home, or during the walk upstairs to the apartment. As Ethan set down the bag and locked the door, Fox laid his jacket on the table and went directly into the kitchen.

He got a beer out of the refrigerator and opened it, leaning back against the cool metal. He drank half of it quickly, risking another cold headache, but not caring. He had to do something.

Ethan came into the kitchen, and walked over to him. He stood, almost toe to toe with Fox. Just stood. Watching. Nervously, Fox rubbed the glass of the bottle across his forehead, trying to cool what felt like a fever. Ethan took the bottle away from him, tipped it to his own lips, and drank off the rest, then set it aside on the counter. He reached up and stroked Fox's moist brow, pushing his hair up off his forehead. "Have you ever been with another man before?" Fox shook his head.

Ethan's hand moved lightly over Mulder's face, touching feather light on cheeks, jaw, chin, finally coming to rest against his mouth. With one fingertip Ethan traced the lines of the FBI agent's mouth. His hand cupped Fox's jaw, and his thumb teased at his full lower lip. "Are you alright with this?"

Fox's voice was low. "Who are you talking to, Ethan? Me? Or Daniel? Is this for the mission?"

There was an almost painfully naked look in Mulder's eyes, and Ethan knew exactly what he needed to hear. He was glad that it was also the truth of the situation. "This is for Ethan Hunt. And it's Fox Mulder I want to take to my bed. That's all. But I need you to tell me you're okay with this, Fox."

Fox closed his eyes briefly. "Fuck, Ethan. I don't even know what this is. But I do want it."

Ethan's hands slid up into Fox's soft, slightly damp hair. "Then all you have to do is relax, Fox. This time, just let me take care of you." He pulled Fox's face down, tilting his own up, and pressed their lips together.

The touch was different than a woman's. Hunt's lips were smooth, and firm, and they moved ever so slightly against Fox's own. Fox felt the warm, damp touch of a tongue, and he opened his mouth to allow Ethan access. Ethan made small, shallow licks into Fox's mouth, teasing him, then slid in and began a slow exploration.

Fox felt Ethan lean in against him, measuring his shorter body against Fox's tall frame. Fox put his arms around the other man, running his hands up and down Ethan's back as the kiss slowly deepened. Then Ethan pulled back a little, and began nipping lightly at Fox's lips, and chin.

Mulder groaned, and tried to reach up under Hunt's jacket. Ethan shrugged out of it, letting it fall to the floor, and began to unbutton Mulder's shirt. He spread the sides open and bent over, dropping a kiss precisely at the point where Fox's collar bones joined, flicking his tongue into the hollow of his throat.

Ethan licked at Fox's neck, moving up to nuzzle his ear. He moved his hands up to Fox's chest and pressed them flat, fingers spread, then scratched lightly. Fox gasped as nails grazed his nipples. Ethan took Fox's earlobe between his teeth as he toyed with the stiffening points, stroking and pinching. No one had ever played with him like this, and he was amazed at the sweep of carnal pleasure that was washing over him. He was beginning to feel drunk with it.

Ethan was loving this. *Damn, he's so sweet, and sensitive. He reacts to everything. Shit, Ethan, you're gonna be his first time. Make it good for him. Make him want more. Make him want YOU.*

Ethan rubbed his cheek against Fox's, and Fox turned his head blindly, seeking Ethan's mouth with his own. Again they kissed, and this time Fox was an active participant. His tongue met Ethan's, sliding and stoking, and he made tiny sounds in the back of his throat that sent a bolt of pure lust through Hunt's body.

When the kiss broke this time, both men were breathing faster. Ethan pressed his face to Fox's chest, fastening his lips around one nipple and sucking strongly. Fox whined, arching to him, and Ethan nibbled before moving over to the other side and repeating the process.

He moved his mouth down the center of Fox's torso, drawing a wet trail, pausing at the belly button to lick and tickle. Then he looked up into Fox's face and slowly, gracefully sank to his knees before the older man. He reached up and began to unbuckle Fox's belt. "I'm going to suck you, Fox. I've been wanting to taste you ever since you walked into Skinner's office, and now I'm going to do it."

Fox watched Ethan's hands work. The button was slipped from it's seat, the zipper drawn down. Ethan reached into the gap he'd created. Once again his hand closed over Mulder's cloth covered penis. This time, it was fully erect, and pushed out with almost aware eagerness to meet his hand. "You're hard," Ethan said quietly. "And you're hard for me, aren't you?"

"Yes." Fox whispered.

Ethan hooked his fingers in the waist band of Fox's underwear and peeled them down. Reaching in, he eased Mulder's heated cock over the elastic band, gently working the balls over the barrier, too. He blew a hot breath across it, and Mulder shivered. "Oh, god. Please, Ethan."

"Yes, baby." Ethan held Mulder's shaft, put out his tongue, and delicately lapped at the full, rosy head. Clear fluid oozed from the tear shaped slit at the tip, and Ethan used his fingertips to spread it over the glans, leaving them moist and glistening. Then he bent and fitted his mouth over Mulder's cock head, sucking softly.

Fox's hands splayed on the refrigerator behind him, scrabbling at the smooth surface as Ethan moved down, gradually taking half of his dick into the hot wetness of his mouth. Ethan's hands moved, pumping the bottom of his staff, and carefully squeezing his scrotum, rolling his balls together gently.

Fox had gotten head before, but it paled beside this experience. He watched in a sensual fog as Ethan's dark head bobbed up and down. Ethan pulled off, leaving Mulder's hard on spit shiny, and licked it from root to crown, swirling his tongue in intricate patterns. Then he followed the same path up, grazing lightly with his teeth.

He looked up at Fox with a wicked grin. "You like that, Foxy?"

Fox swore, and Ethan laughed. "Fuck yeah, I like it. Tell me your not a fucking tease, Hunt."

Ethan's eyes glittered. "No, I'm not a tease. I deliver. When you cum, don't you dare try to pull out, do you hear me? I want every drop of cream you have. Now, you just hang on to something, Fox. I'm gonna rock your world." He plunged down suddenly, deep throating him.

Fox gave a strangled cry. Unable to stop himself, he thrust forward strongly. Ethan reached back and grabbed his ass, not pulling away, sucking hard. Fox buried his hands in Ethan's hair, and bucked his hips. He was vaguely worried about choking the other man, but so lost in a frenzy of lust that he couldn't have stopped if his life depended on it.

It didn't matter. Ethan took everything Fox gave him, and demanded more. He'd been waiting for this for a long time, and he simply DEVOURED the other man. The pleasure was so intense that Fox was almost weeping. He gasped as he plunged in and out of the steamy paradise. "Oh...god. So good. So GOOD!"

He felt his balls draw up tight, and shouted, "Ethan!" It was both a warning, and a plea. His orgasm hit him like an electric jolt, followed by a wave of fire. It roared through him, and he came harder than he ever had before.

Ethan's hands clamped on Fox's ass, squeezing and kneading the firm cheeks, drawing him even tighter into his oral embrace as he felt the first jolt of cum hit the back of his throat. He sucked and swallowed greedily, drinking the other man's essence, nose buried in the brown curls of Fox's pubic hair. There was another, slightly weaker spurt, then another. The taste, slightly bitter and so very, very Fox, filled him.

He was pressed against Mulder's legs, and he could feel them trembling. Fox was on the verge of having his knees give out. Ethan let the softening cock slide out of his mouth, and leaned his head against Fox's thigh, catching his breath.

Mulder still had his hands in Ethan's hair, and they moved gently, stroking him. Ethan smiled against Fox's leg, then moved to lick his sticky cock clean. Finally he stood up, and put his arms around the now trembling man, supporting him.

Fox wrapped his arms around Ethan, burying his face against the younger man's neck. "I didn't know," he whispered. "I never imagined."

"I know." Ethan whispered back.

"You...Ethan, you didn't..." He looked at Ethan, then said simply. "You didn't."

Ethan kissed him. "This time was for you." He rested his forehead against Fox's, gazing into his eyes, and smiled. "Don't worry. The next time will be for me."

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 11

Fox looked at him consideringly. "So there's gonna be a next time?"

"Unless it would mean my having to rape you, yes. I'm not nearly through with you. As you pointed out, I didn't. But not just yet." He patted Mulder's cheek. "I want you rested and recouped before I get MINE."

"Uh...that sounds kinda like you plan on wearing me out."

"Oh, I do."

"I begin to wonder what I've gotten myself into."

"I'm going to go downstairs and check the mail again. I think we may have a second delivery today. I found a list of places that deliver in that drawer. Why don't you call and order dinner? Anything but pizza. And Fox?"

"Yeah?"

"Personally, it would suit me fine if you wanted to run around the apartment naked. But if you have to answer the door, please remember to zip up." Blushing, Mulder quickly tucked himself back into his pants as Ethan exited.

Downstairs, Ethan reflected that it had been a nice episode. He had a feeling that Fox was going to be a more than satisfactory lover. So often he had to keep most of himself screened from the people he bedded, not able to reveal himself. With Fox it was different. The FBI agent knew what he was, and Ethan didn't have to pretend with Fox. That was...liberating.

And Mulder's wonder and enthusiasm was flattering, he had to admit it. Ethan saw it as a bit of a responsibility, being someone's first. He felt like he hadn't let Fox down. He smiled to himself, wondering if Fox would be as eager for the next first that he had planned. He thought he would.

There was, he expected, more envelopes in the mailbox. Besides another video tape, there was also a small box. Once again, nothing was marked in any way. He wondered if the real postman ever thought about why nothing ever came for this address.

Fox was at the dining room table, reviewing his previous night's notes when Ethan entered. That was another thing he liked about Fox: he didn't need to be told everything. He knew the importance of becoming as familiar with the material as possible.

He was wearing his glasses again, and Ethan handed him the box. "I think this is for you."

Fox opened the box to reveal a contact lens case, a soaking box, and a bottle of lens cleaner. "Oh boy. Now the other kids at school won't call me four eyes."

"Go ahead and try them on. It may take a little while for you to get adjusted. Though I hear that the new extended wear soft contacts are pretty easy on the eyes." With a little coaching from Ethan, Fox managed to get the lenses in. "How are they?"

"A little weird. Not as bad as I expected." Fox picked up a sheet of notes and studied it. "I can see great." He sounded surprised.

"Terrific. You're supposed to be able to sleep in them, keep them on for several days at a time. But I wouldn't advise it right at first. We don't want you getting an eye infection right before the mission. It wouldn't totally fuck things up, but you'll function better if you aren't in any physical discomfort."

"Your concern is touching."

"Hey, don't sound so cynical. I'm concerned." He looped his arms around Fox's waist, pulling their lower bodies together. "Don't' I LOOK concerned?" He made a serious face.

Fox snorted and pushed him away, but there was an undertone of amusement in the sound. "What else have we got?"

"Let's see."

This time it was photos and family histories for both Ballard and Galbraith. They settled in to study. Fox found it amazing that he could end up looking almost exactly like a man who's parents in no way resembled his own. Genetics was a funny thing.

As he read, Ethan reflected that Connor Galbraith was really something of a success story. The man had been born into grinding poverty. His mother was a char, and his father worked odd jobs, when he wasn't drinking. There were six siblings, all older and all girls. Connor had been royally spoiled by the women in his family.

He'd gone against the tide in his neighborhood, staying in school, then taking university courses. He'd also begun a lucrative drug trade at a very early age. By the time he was sixteen he was running a large section of turf, with more than twenty underlings reporting to him.

A more established dealer had taken a fancy to him, and helped him get his business degree. With the contacts his patron provided, Connor had moved into the distribution end of the business. He soon showed a genius for finding small transport companies that could be taken over and used for drug running, while turning enough of a legitimate profit to keep the authorities from becoming too suspicious.

Handsome and personable, Connor networked for all he was worth. It became known that he was reliable, always turning a profit for whoever he worked with, and never getting caught. A few subordinates were nicked, but there was never enough evidence to connect Galbraith, and the captured employees kept their mouths shut. They knew that a nice bonus awaited if they did, and repercussions waited if they did not.

Ethan shook his head slightly. All that intelligence, ambition, and energy. What might Galbraith have become if he'd stayed in the mainstream? No point in speculating, really. In real life, such qualities were not always rewarded. Connor didn't forget where he came from. His parents were set up in a comfortable suburban house, where his father quickly drank himself to death. His mother still lived there, with her second husband. All the sisters were either established with apparently happy marriages, or set up in businesses, courtesy of their baby brother.

The family was well aware of Connor's lifestyle, both his financial, and his romantic. He'd been openly gay since his early teens. *Must be a tough bastard* Ethan thought. *Street culture in Dublin isn't all that tolerant. He must've kicked some serious ass early on to earn respect.* Sure enough, there was a not inconsequential police record, all for fighting or assault. No drug charges. No theft. Connor wasn't going to do anything that would attract attention that might jeopardize his living.

The food arrived. Ethan was pleased to see that Fox had shown a little adventurousness in his selection. Instead of the burgers or Chinese food he'd expected, there was Greek cuisine: kebabs, pilaf, and moussaka. "Good choice."

"Yeah, well, this is the only way you're gonna get me to eat eggplant."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Well, it's weird. I mean, purple? Purple food is not natural. Except maybe grapes."

"What about plums?"

"Okay, and plums."

"What do you mean, not natural? They aren't artificially colored, so they HAVE to be natural."

"You just have to argue, don't you? You know what I mean."

"Sure, I do. I know you better than you think."

Fox poked at the last of the rice on his plate, them mumbled, "Yeah, maybe you do."

Ethan reached over and stroked a finger down Fox's cheek, saying softy, "Does that bother you?"

"I don't know." Fox said honestly. "I'm not used to people understanding me. It's a new experience."

Clearing away was quick, and easy. There was another video tape. It was apparent that they were being given a broad overview of how the two men acted and interacted in public.

Mulder studied the two men on the tape. They were standing outside what looked like a rural pub, and they were very oddly dressed. They were both wearing bright red jackets with brass buttons, tight white pants, high black boots, and black billed haps of some sort. "What, are they at a costume party?"

"I'm surprised at you, Mulder. Especially coming from Maryland. That's a popular sport there, as well as in England."

Fox squinted at the screen. A horse, mounted by someone wearing an identical costume, passed. "Oh, no."

"Yes, that's right. They're..."

"Don't say it."

"They're fox hunting."

Mulder groaned, putting his head in his hands. "They did this on purpose, didn't they?"

"Possibly. I suspect that our operator has a slightly twisted sense of humor. Anyway, it's a part of their life. It signifies."

"Well, you better hope that Montana doesn't want to ride to the hunt, because I'm a lousy horseman. The damn things scare me, and they know it. They have hard hooves, heavy bodies, big teeth, and nasty attitudes."

"We should be able to avoid horseback riding." As they watched, Connor patted Daniel's butt, and received a kiss in return. "You know, they're the most open physically affectionate couple I've ever seen, gay OR straight."

"We have to remember that. If we seem distant to each other, or cool, it may cause speculation that we don't need. Lots of pet names, too, honey bunny."

Fox grunted. "Alright, lambchop." Ethan laughed.

They continued watching the tape. Yes, horsemanship WAS one area where Ballard and Mulder differed. Ballard sat his horse with easy grace, obviously at home in the saddle. Galbraith was obviously not as skilled, but he was competent and efficient, as he was in most things.

It had been easier to get this footage than it had some of the others, Ethan reflected. Hunts were often filmed, and the participants didn't think anything of it. There was even a good shot of Daniel jumping a hedge, leaning over his horse's neck, perfectly in tune with his mount. The hunt finished back at the pub, with pints all around.

Ethan clicked off the set. "Okay. Bed time." He stood up, and offered his hand to Fox. Fox looked at it for a moment, then looked up at Ethan. He put his hand in Ethan's, and allowed himself to be drawn to his feet and led into the bedroom.

Ethan switched the bedside lamp on low, then shut off the lights. He started to remove his shirt. *He's nervous again. I can take care of that.* "How about another back rub, Fox?"

"That would be...nice."

"Get undressed, then."

Ethan went into the bathroom and returned with a towel. Fox was down to his briefs. Hunt spread the towel out on the bed, then said, "All of it, Fox."

Fox hesitated, then removed the briefs. Ethan noticed with satisfaction that his cock was already beginning to stiffen. Anticipation was a wonderful aphrodisiac. Without being told, Fox crawled up on the bed and positioned himself on the towel, face down.

Ethan stripped down to his own briefs, leaving them on for the time being. He opened the bedside table and pulled out a small bottle, then climbed up on the bed with Fox. He straddled the FBI agent's thighs, opened the bottle, and poured some into his hand, then set it aside.

Fox sniffed, puzzled, then said doubtfully, "Cookies?"

"Vanilla." Ethan spread the oil across Fox's shoulder blades and up his shoulders. The sweet scent filled Fox's nostrils. There was something undeniably relaxing about it. He poured more oil into his hand, and smoothed it the length of Fox's back. Then he settled in, and began cracking the cartilage in Fox's spine. Mulder grunted in appreciation. "Like that?"

"You keep asking me that. If I DON'T like it, Ethan, I'll throw you off."

Ethan thought about telling him that he might TRY to throw him off, but decided he didn't feel like issuing a challenge right now. Wrestling could be fun, but he was interested in a more direct sexual encounter right now. His cock was getting very hard as he stroked Mulder's back, rocking against his thighs with the motion of his arms.

Mulder shifted. There was a distinct sensation of warmth in the area that Ethan was covering. "Is there something in that oil?"

"Besides the scent? Yeah, it's a heating oil. Warms the skin up with contact."

"Feels good."

"I know." Ethan worked Fox's muscles strongly, kneading out every trace of tension, leaving the FBI agent limp and purring. "By the way." He licked Fox's back. "It's also flavored." Fox gave a gusty sigh as Ethan trailed his tongue down his spine.

When Ethan's hands gripped his ass, Fox tensed a little. But he relaxed as Ethan rubbed and squeezed; firmly, then gently. He hardly thought about it when Ethan pulled the cheeks apart, spreading them as he massaged. When he felt the greased fingers skimming down the cleft, though, his eyes opened wide. "Ethan?"

"Just relax. Nothing's going to happen if you don't want it to. But you will want it." He shifted to Fox's side. "Open your legs." Fox hesitated. Ethan stroked his back. "C'mon, baby. Let me show you how good it can feel."

Fox spread his legs, and Ethan moved back to kneel between them. Again he took more oil, and parted Fox's ass cheeks. He ran his fingers up and down, generously coating the crease. Then his fingers began to circle around the puckered opening, not trying to push inside, just massaging.

Fox felt himself beginning to relax, the tight spring of muscles loosening a little. The oil helped, warming the flesh and seeming to soften it. Then Fox felt a brush of air, and something warm and wet stroked across his ass hole. Startled, he craned his head to look back. Ethan had his face buried against Fox's ass. Again the hot, soft touch came, and Fox whimpered. "What..."

"I'm rimming you. Just relax and enjoy it." Ethan bent to his task again.

Fox forced himself to lie still, but he wanted desperately to squirm. The soft, gentle licking continued. Then there was a more firm push, and Fox felt Ethan's tongue penetrate shallowly. "Oh, god." The tongue moved, pressing, then withdrawing, entering him a fraction deeper each time. He moaned as he felt a harder touch, and a greased finger slid slowly into his ass. "Easy." With his other hand, Ethan rubbed the small of Fox's back. "You'll get used to it."

It wasn't painful, like some of his prostate exams had been. But then, those had been in a cold, sterile environment, with Fox bent over and grabbing the stirrups on an exam table. Add to that the fact that there had been no warming oil, no sensual massage, and he wasn't attracted to the doctor, and it was understandable, he supposed.

Ethan slowly began to work his finger in and out. "This is just a little of what it will feel like, Fox, if you let me fuck you."

"Ethan, I don't know if I..."

"Shh. Give it a couple of minutes. Don't say no right away. Feel." Ethan continued finger fucking Mulder, patiently and gently opening him up. His own cock was rock hard by now, and there was a damp patch of pre cum soaking into his briefs, but he didn't hurry. He had little doubt that he would get what he wanted, and he was going to be sure that Fox enjoyed the experience enough to want it again.

Fox made no comment when Ethan eased the second finger in beside the first, but his hands fisted briefly on the sheet. Hunt continued stroking in a steady rhythm, and began moving his fingers farther apart, gradually scissoring them.

His voice was low and soothing. "Fox? Okay, I'm going to try to find your prostate now. You hang on. You're going to want to cum, but try to hold off, okay?"

"Okay."

"I don't want you to cum till I'm inside you."

"Ethan..." Whatever comment or protest Fox had been going to make was lost in a gasp as he felt a sudden explosion of pleasure. "JESUS!"

"Hold on, Fox. Don't cum." Ethan rubbed again. Fox made a strangling sound, and instinctively pushed back, impaling himself more deeply. "Yeah, that feels good. One more." The third finger was pressed tightly to the other two as Ethan eased them inside.

Fox's face was pressed against the pillow, hard. "Fox, turn your head." He was trembling, hitching slightly. "FOX! Turn your head and breathe."

Fox's head rolled, and he said hoarsely, "Fuck me, Hunt."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, fuck, no. Yes. Just do it, before I go crazy."

That was all Ethan needed to hear. He swiftly stripped off his shorts, his eager cock almost slapping his belly as it sprang free. He lightly greased his cock, then reached in the drawer and came up with a condom. Ripping open the pack, he said, "You can't use oil based lubes with latex, so I got some that are made of polyurethane. Safe and comfortable."

Through his lust induced haze, Mulder chuckled weakly. "You...you had this all planned out."

"Planning is a part of me, Fox. If something's worth going after, I do it right." Ethan rolled the rubber down over his hard on, then slathered it with more of the sweet oil. He moved back behind Mulder, and said, "Lift your hips." When the FBI agent complied, he slid a pillow under him, lifting and angling his hips.

Then he once again parted Mulder's cheeks, and fitted his cock head against the rosy, puckered opening. "Okay, Fox, time to get your cherry plucked. Slow and easy."

Ethan had prepared him well. There was no pain as the glans slid past the muscular little ring, lodging inside. There was only a sense of stretching. Ethan looked down, studying the way Mulder's flesh closed around his own, and resisted the urge to ram in, full length. That could come later. Now he eased forward slowly, gradually wedging his way deeper.

Halfway in he stopped, and withdrew till he was barely penetrating. Mulder moaned as the stretched passage narrowed again with his exit. "You okay?"

"Put it back in. I feel empty." Ethan laughed softly, and pushed forward. This time he kept going till he was buried to the root. His balls nestled against Fox's own, and his pubic hair tickled his ass. Again Ethan stopped. This time it was as much for himself as it was for Fox. He desperately did not want to cum right away.

"Damn, Fox," he hissed. "You're so TIGHT! And hot. You're a fucking furnace."

"Ethan...how...how big ARE you? Are you like, a record or something?"

Ethan kissed the back of Fox's neck. "I'm okay, but I'm not a candidate for a specimen jar." He slid his hands down Fox's sides, and under, finding his erection. "You're pretty nice, too." He began to stroke. "I'm going to move now."

"Please." The single word was full of breathy longing.

The smaller man started to pump in and out with short, shallow strokes. Every now and then he'd pull a little farther back, so that his cock head would pass over Mulder's prostate. Mulder began making little thrusts back to meet him. "You like it, don't you Fox?"

"Yes." It was a whimper.

"Tell me what you like." Ethan made a short, hard jab, moving Fox on the bed.

Fox yelped with pleasure. "This. I like this."

Ethan did it again. And again. "No, TELL me."

"I like you fucking me. I like the way your cock feel in my ass." He twisted his head and looked back at Ethan. His face was flushed and sweaty, eyes hot. He was beautiful. "I want MORE."

Ethan growled, and let go. He started pounding into Fox with all his strength. Mulder bucked back to meet him, making small, animal sounds in the back of his throat that drove Ethan even harder. He LOVED it that HE was the one causing Mulder to make those noises.

"Give it to me, Mulder!" He rasped. "Give it up! Cum for me." His hands moved furiously on Fox's blood engorged shaft, and suddenly they were bathed in hot, thick fluid as Fox climaxed. His whole body seemed to clench. The muscles of his anal passage rippled, squeezing and milking Ethan, and he, too, came. And he groaned Fox's name when he did.

The condom safely caught and held Hunt's sperm, but Fox could feel the pulse through the thin sheath. It was the most vital, living, REAL thing he'd ever experienced. Ethan made a few more strokes, cock beginning to soften. Then he pulled out, holding the rubber to the base of his penis to be sure it didn't come off. Ethan stripped the rubber off, tied it, and dropped it in the wastebasket. Then he urged Mulder over onto his back. Taking the towel, he wiped his lover clean, then swapped himself and threw the towel on the floor.

Mulder lay, boneless, staring up at the ceinling. There was a look of dazed wonder on his face. Ethan lay on his side by him, pillowing his head on Fox's shoulder, and Fox put his arm around him, hugging. "How do you feel?"

"My ass hurts. But I feel good. Shit, I feel...I don't know. Words sort of fail."

"Hm. Does this mean I've found a way to render you speechless?"

Fox gently tugged at the hair that fell across his forehead. "You wish."

"No, not really. I like it when you talk. Remember?"

"Yeah, I remember. Pervert."

"Have I tried to deny it?"

Fox was quiet for a while. Finally he said slowly, "Is...this what Connor and Daniel do?"

"I'm not sure. Probably something like it. Any way, it doesn't matter." Ethan kissed Fox deeply. "This is what Ethan and Fox do."

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 12

The Targets

Fox had always considered himself something of a `touch me not' when it came to sleeping. He often woke up almost falling off the bed, as far away from his bed partner as possible. Well, that was the few times he had actually SLEPT with someone instead of just fucking them.

But somehow it seemed natural to fall asleep in Ethan Hunt's arms, with the warm, solid body pressed close to his own. Again Fox woke up with his face pressed against Ethan, but this time he didn't try to sneak out of bed. He rubbed his face against the smooth skin of Ethan's chest. Eyes still closed, Ethan smiled.

Fox whispered, "Ethan? You asleep?"

Ethan whispered back, "Yes, Fox. I'm asleep."

"Oh, good. Here comes a wet dream." He licked Ethan's left nipple.

Ethan groaned. "I gotta eat moussaka more often, if this is the kind of dreams it gives me."

"Wait'll you see what the kebabs do for you." Fox transferred his attention to the right nipple, sucking it softly till it rose to a stiff peak.

Ethan opened his eyes and watched Fox, his breath starting to speed up. He stroked the soft brown hair, then buried his hands in it and said quietly, "Bite me."

Fox hesitated, unsure. "Bite?"

"Yeah. Oh, don't draw blood, or anything, but use your teeth." Fox nibbled experimentally, and earned a happy groan. "Yeah, like that. Perfect. You are so hot, Mulder."

"No one ever told me that before."

"I can't account for the stupidity of the rest of the world. Do you intend to do anything else?"

"Oh, yeah." Mulder worked a wet trail down Ethan's torso, pausing to dip into his belly button, and enjoying the shiver of his abdominal muscles this caused. Then he continued down and kissed along the line of dark hair pubic hair, studiously ignoring Ethan's rising cock. Next he moved down the hip bone to begin nibbling at Hunt's inner thigh.

Ethan said quietly, "Fox, if you don't suck me off pretty soon, I'm going to be VERY pissed."

Fox slanted a glance up his body. "YOU'RE the one who made me nuts with foreplay last night. Take it like a man, Hunt."

Ethan reached down to tangle his hands in Fox's hair, pushing him toward his now weeping dick. "Nah. YOU take it like a man."

Fox groaned. "Puns, yet." He gripped Ethan's shaft, marveling at the velvety texture of the skin wrapped around such firm flesh, and stroked. "I...uh...You know that I don't know how to do this. It's going to be amateur time."

"What? You think I do it professionally?" When Fox glared at him, he chuckled. "Just do whatever you think will feel good, Fox. I seriously doubt I'll be disappointed."

"You've been warned," Fox murmured, bending back down. He studied Ethan's cock intently for a moment, then carefully dipped his tongue into the tiny slit on the head, eliciting a moan.

He settled down and began a slow, gentle, all over lapping. It was almost like a child eating an ice cream cone, and trying to keep the ice cream symmetrical. In no time Ethan's prick was quivering in his grasp. Ethan was just about to explain to Fox that they called it `sucking someone off' for a REASON, when the FBI agent took his glans into his mouth for the first time.

The wet heat was too much to resist, and Ethan pushed up into the oral embrace. Fox didn't retreat, letting the rigid flesh slide deep, till Ethan was almost two thirds buried. Then he pulled back and slid down again. Hunt breathed, "Oh, yeah. Baby, maybe you're not experienced, but you DO have the knack."

Fox pulled free and said, almost apologetically, "I'm not gonna be able to take all of it, like you did."

"That's okay, I can live with that. Don't feel like you have to swallow, if it squicks you, either. It won't hurt my feelings if you spit."

"I dunno. I'll have to see." Once again Mulder slid Ethan's cock into his mouth, and began a slow, steady bob.

*Damn, that feels good! I ought to do something for him, too.* "Fox, move around so I can reach you. I want to touch you." Without stopping, Mulder shifted his hips up higher on the bed. Ethan pulled him closer, wrapped his hand around Fox's hard on, and began to work him gently. Fox made muffled sounds of pleasure.

The two men continued with their love making, their movements gradually becoming faster, rougher as the passion rose. Ethan jerked with the electric sensation as Fox's teeth rasped lightly along his shaft. *Shit, he remembered about the biting! He's GOOD!* The stimulation triggered his orgasm. Fox jerked a little himself when Ethan's cum exploded in his mouth, but he didn't spit it out. He swallowed quickly, thinking that it wasn't so bad. Not so bad at all.

He let the softening dick slide out of his mouth, and panted while Ethan finished him off with a few more firm strokes. He gritted his teeth as he rode out his orgasm, bathing the enveloping fingers. When he heard a low laugh, he looked up at Ethan, perplexed. "What's so funny?"

"I just noticed." Ethan sat up and stretched lazily, stroking the back of Fox's leg. "Your toes curl when you cum."

************************************************

No shopping expeditions that day. They stayed around the apartment, reviewing and talking. Fox talked more than Ethan, but he understood that. They would most likely never see each other again after this mission, and the less information floating around out there about Ethan, the better.

Fox told him about Samantha, and he listened soberly. "You don't think I'm crazy?"

"I don't know if I'd go so far as to say that, Mulder. Look at the situation you're walking into with your eyes wide open. But as for what happened to your sister...I've seen some weird shit in my time. Almost anything is possible." He might have been saying that just to bull shit him, retain his cooperation. But somehow, Fox didn't think that was the case.

There was the usual daily load of information in the mailbox. Fox reflected that he was going to end up knowing more about Ballard and Galbraith than he did about most people in his life, including a number of relatives.

The video tape followed a handball game between the two lovers. There was no quarter asked for, or given, on either side. They played to win. Daniel had a bit of an advantage with his greater height and reach, but Connor could really streak around the confines of the little court. It was a pretty even match.

And you could tell that they liked pitting themselves against each other. There was breathless, good natured needling between scores. Connor won by one point. In mock retaliation, Daniel threw his sweat towel over the shorter man's head and got him in a headlock. They staggered and grappled, laughing and cursing, till Galbraith pulled Daniel down to the ground, and it turned into a make out session.

The written information consisted of a time line of their history together. A list detailed what holiday's and vacations they'd taken together, giving as much information and observations as possible.

Ethan said, "Hey, Fox, guess where they met?"

Fox pretended to think, "Express line at the supermarket? Monster truck rally? Wrestlemania?"

"No, though I wouldn't put that last one past Daniel, given the number of muscular men in spandex. No, they met at Casa de los Vientos del Susurro."

"House of the Whispering Winds. Oo, romantic."

"You aren't kidding. That's a prime resort hotel in Rio. Single occupancy rooms start at $350 a night. A suite will run you $1000 to begin with. In the OFF season."

"Yow. I'm going to make a guess and say that Daniel wasn't there on his own dime."

"Not our boy. His daddy at the time was Andrew Yarborough."

"Yarborough." Fox thought. "Yarborough Farms?"

"The same."

"Damn, they've had horses entered in the last twenty or so Triple Crowns."

"And he was also an old friend of the Ballard family. Very close, almost family."

"Uh oh. Funny Uncle Andy, huh?"

"Very possible, though there's no indication they were physically involved till Daniel moved into an apartment he furnished. Apparently Andrew just liked how he grew up. Daniel had been with him for almost three years before he left him for Connor." "So Daniel was there in Rio, with his patron, and he dumped him for Galbraith."

"I don't think it was as cold blooded as that. There are indications that Yarborough was abusive to Daniel. He kept him lavishly, but was a pretty cold and demanding man."

"So when a hot blooded, handsome Black Irish showed up, he was ripe for the picking, huh?"

"Connor can be very charming. And he's always been protective of Daniel. I don't believe he would have taken kindly to the thought of Daniel's lover bashing him around."

"So it was the knight errant to the rescue?"

"I think so, yeah."

"That's kinda sweet." Mulder was surprised to find that he wasn't being sarcastic when he said this, and Ethan nodded.

"Sometimes you can find a little something to admire in even the worst people. Startling as hell when it happens."

Fox examined a photo of Andrew Yarborough taken during the time he had been with Ballard. He LOOKED like an old money horse trader. He was big and bluff, with a ruddy complexion that probably owed as much to drink as it did to time in the wind and sun. He had small, shrewd eyes, a large nose, and a hard mouth. He wasn't a handsome man, but there was a certain raw power about him. His hands were enormous, and his arms and upper body slabbed with muscle. He had the thick, powerful thighs of a lifelong horseman. Probably had a heavy hand in training his horses, Fox thought. *I bet he likes to break their spirits. Daniel...wouldn't have done well with him.*

"I wonder," Fox murmured. "What it was like..."

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 13

Meeting

Casa de los Vientos del Susurro. House of the Whispering Winds. The name appealed to Connor's romantic Celtic nature. And it was fitting. The resort was in a sheltered, relatively tourist free area of Rio. It had a private beach and the constant breezes were gentle and refreshing. They did, indeed, whisper through the sheltering trees.

He'd had a little business to see to here in Rio de Janeiro, but it hadn't taken long to conduct. He'd decided to indulge in a bit of rest and relaxation as long as he was here. No point in having money if you didn't enjoy it, he thought.

Usually you had to have reservations far in advance to get space at the Casa. But another perk of his line of work was an extensive network of contacts. He'd made a few phone calls, and suddenly the hotel had found that they did, indeed, have a room available. They apologized profusely that it was not a suite, but Connor magnanimously told them it didn't matter. He was alone at the present, and a single room would be fine.

Of course, just because he was alone didn't mean he intended to STAY alone. He was certain he wouldn't have much trouble finding a playmate. If not at the resort itself, then in a nearby club. Rio seemed to attract a remarkably high average of pretty people.

Connor didn't make an effort to get anyone into bed that first night, just enjoying the peace, resting up. He'd have plenty of energy to devote to his chosen conquest later. That morning he awoke early. He was in a ground floor room, and french doors looked out on a tiny, private garden. He'd left the glass open, and the morning breeze was wafting the heavy, sweet scent of jasmine through the screen into his room.

A call to room service brought breakfast. In deference to the local customs, he forwent his usual hearty breakfast in favor of croissants and cafe au lait. Then he showered and got into his vacation clothes. He'd been in nothing but suits the last week or so, and it was a relief to wear something casual: loose white cotton pants and shirt, with simple sandals. It almost looked like a stereotypical Mexican peon costume, except that it had cost more than most peasants would earn in a year's time.

He could have had the morning papers delivered to his room with his breakfast, but instead he went to the lobby to pick them up. He liked to people watch, and the lobby of a resort hotel in a jet set hot spot was an excellent place to indulge in this pastime.

Connor got several papers from the new stand, including one from Dublin that they'd brought in specially for him. He chose a comfortable seat where he had a good view of the entire lobby. He read the papers, and watched the comings and goings. It was a little slow, what with the early hour. Most of the guests didn't stir till almost noon. He rather liked the feel of having the place almost to himself.

A taxi pulled up outside, and a bellman hurried out to assist the new guests. Another quickly joined him when he saw the number of bags that were being unloaded from the car. Two men got out of the cab and entered the lobby. The older one, a thick set man in his fifties, went directly to the registration desk. The other, a tall young man, lingered near the door, surveying the lobby through a pair of very dark sunglasses.

Connor studied him around the side of his paper. He was probably in his late twenties, a few years older than Connor himself. He was long limbed, but there was little of the awkwardness usually associated with that body type. He had thick brown hair, falling messily over his forehead, and as Connor watched, he pushed at it impatiently, long fingered hands raking through it to make it even more disheveled.

Connor wished he'd take off the sunglasses, so he could have a better look at his face. He liked what he saw so far. There were high cheekbones, and a determined jaw. And the mouth... Oh, yes. The mouth. Beautifully formed, with a full lower lip. Sulky. It looked made for pouting, and that was what he was doing right now. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, chin tucked, glowering toward his companion. He wasn't pleased about something.

This conclusion was confirmed when the older man called sharply, "Daniel! Quit moping and get over here." Daniel pushed off from the wall and slouched reluctantly over to join his friend, leaning against the counter when he arrived. "I'm getting sick of this sullen shit, Daniel. Quit acting like a child. I got us the best suite the place has."

"I don't see why we had to come HERE." The voice had a soft southern accent, not quite a drawl. "We could have stayed at the Tallbridge in the city. It would've been closer to your business."

"And you would have been right in the middle of all the city clubs. I DON'T think so." Ah, so he'd been right in his first assessment of the relationship. This was a `boy' and his `daddy'.

"You're always busy," Daniel complained. "It's bad enough you're gone all day. But you take evening meetings, too."

"I have to, you know that."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't keep me from being bored. I just want to have a little fun."

The man's voice was cold. "I know the kind of fun you have, Daniel." He went back to filling out forms. Daniel fidgeted for a moment, then said, "I don't know why you insisted I come. I could've just stayed home, for all the time you're going to spend with me."

The older man grabbed his wrist, squeezing, and Daniel winced. Connor heard a crinkle, and found to his surprise that he had crumpled the newspaper in clenched fists. "After what you did last time I left you alone? I DON'T think so. You're going to stay here, where I can keep an eye on you, and you can't get up to your tricks."

Daniel's voice was so low Connor almost couldn't hear it, "Andy, we're in public." Andy released him, and Daniel rubbed his wrist. "You don't have to be so damn macho about it. I said I was sorry. Have you got our rooms? I want to go freshen up. I'm bummed out from the trip. We could have at least taken a later flight, so I wouldn't have such jet lag."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch. The manager is an old friend, I'm going to step back and have a word with him. You'll stay here till I'm ready to go with you." He looked at the waiting bellmen. "Take our things up." Then he went behind the desk and was ushered into a back office.

Daniel remained leaning against the counter, a petulant scowl on his face, as the porters gathered up the baggage and left. Then he walked over to one of the lobby chairs and threw himself into it, slouching in a loose limbed sprawl. Again he folded his arms across his chest, as if to show the world how very, very displeased he was with the way things were being run.

Daniel was in the middle of a deep, but not quite profound, funk. Andrew was really becoming impossible these days. Imagine, dragging him along on a business trip just because he thought he couldn't trust him. What really bothered him was that his paramour was getting increasingly violent.

Oh, Andrew had never been what could be called gentle by any stretch of the imagination. But lately...lately what Daniel thought of as `the episodes' were increasing. That last time...Daniel had been genuinely frightened. Andrew had used one of his riding crops. The marks had only recently faded.

Daniel accepted a certain amount of rough handling as the price he paid for his chosen lifestyle. He even enjoyed the milder forms of control and discipline. But Andrew Yarborough was taking it farther and farther. It was moving into the realm of pathology, and Daniel honestly didn't know what to do about it. There was a thrill in submitting yourself to someone strong and masterful, but not if there was the likelihood of being REALLY hurt.

Daniel was an attractive man. People had stared at him from a very early age, and he could sense when someone interested was looking. He felt that familiar, warm prickle now, and looked around to see who might be watching. His eyes settled on a man sitting a few yards away, half hidden by a potted palm.

He was looking over the top of a rumpled newspaper, and he had just the greenest eyes... Like the best grade of jade, but warmer than the stone. When he saw Daniel looking, the paper lowered a bit more.

My, oh my. That was one almost ridiculously good looking man. He couldn't help but wonder idly if maybe they were having a fashion shoot in the area. He certainly looked good enough to be one of the models. Though, come to think of it, he didn't have that vapid, self absorbed air Daniel had come to expect with professionally pretty people. His eyes were much too sharp.

Then he smiled, and Daniel felt an immediate sweep of warmth. The smile was just a little crooked, the teeth not quite perfect, and it was devastating. "Hullo."

He really shouldn't talk to this man, he knew that. There was no telling what might set Andrew off these days, and he was just in the other room. But this was all so perfectly innocent, and the man seemed friendly, and he was LONELY, and bored, dammit. "Hi."

The man accepted his response as an invitation to talk. He folded the paper, and got up, coming over. Daniel was careful to keep his expression neutral, but he watched him move with appreciation. There was a nice, taut body under those loose clothes, and he moved with fluid, catlike grace.

He held out a hand. "I'm Connor Galbraith. And you're Daniel."

Daniel shook. The grip was firm, the hand warm. "Daniel Ballard. You're from Ireland." There was a musical lilt to the man's accent, like the subtle flavor of peat smoke in a good whiskey.

"Aye, that I am. Dubliner by birth. And you, you're from the south, eh?"

Daniel found himself smiling faintly. "Is it that obvious?"

Connor shrugged, taking a chair beside him. "You sound like your words have been dipped in warm honey and butter."

Daniel felt a distinct tingle. How long had it been since anyone had talked to him like this? He laughed ruefully. `"Andy says I sound like a hayseed."

"I don't know Andy, so I'll reserve judgement. Maybe he's just teasing."

Daniel's smile faded. "No, he's not."

"And who IS Andy, exactly?"

"Andrew Yarborough."

"Alright, that's his name. But who IS he? To you?"

Daniel hesitated. He removed his sunglasses, touching the earpiece to his lips thoughtfully, and regarded Connor. His eyes were hazel, what Connor's Ma used to call `cat eyes', able to shift shade with what he wore. Later Connor would learn that this was true for his emotional states, too. They could grow darker with anger, or passion. In fact, Connor thought, there was something distinctly feline about Daniel Ballard.

Finally Daniel said quietly, "He's my lover." Simple, direct, unashamed. Connor liked that. He liked it a lot. "He...takes care of me."

"Does he take GOOD care of you?"

Daniel's expression went blank, and he slid the shades back on. "I shouldn't be talking to you. Andy wouldn't like it. I'm sorry."

He stood up, but Connor caught his wrist. Daniel stopped, and repressed a shiver. This was so much different than the way Andrew had touched him. It was gentle, almost tender. Connor was looking up at Daniel with those intense green eyes. He said quietly, "Andy won't be here all the time, will he?"

Now Daniel DID shiver. He found himself answering, "No. He won't." Connor let go, and Daniel moved quickly to the desk, leaning once again on the counter. It was a good thing that he did, for a few seconds later, Andrew Yarborough emerged from the back office, chatting with the manager.

He looked at his young lover sharply. It wasn't like Daniel to meekly obey orders. He had probably been up to something. Andrew scanned the lobby, and located a possible source of trouble. That one over there, by the palm. He had a paper up before his face, but Andrew could tell by looking at him that he had a lean, well proportioned body. If he didn't have the face of a gargoyle, then Andrew's little slut would probably be interested.

But he remembered that he mustn't make a scene in public, and said mildly, "What have you been up to?"

Daniel peered at him over the top of his sunglasses. "I'm in the middle of a public lobby, jet lagged. What COULD I do? I waited for my prince to come."

Yarborough frowned, and said quietly, "That mouth isn't meant for making smart remarks, Danny. Maybe when we get to the room I'll remind you of what it IS meant for." Andrew heard a rustle, and looked over to see the man in white lowering the paper, which was much more crumpled than it should have been. He had green eyes, which were like chips of ice, and he didn't look anything like a gargoyle.

Yarborough gripped the back of Daniel's neck, and the younger man stiffened. "Yes, I'd say it's time for a reminder." He pushed his lover before him toward the elevator, casting a hard look back at the dark haired man in the chair. The look said clearly, "This is mine. No trespassing." The other man didn't look away.

When the elevator doors slid closed, Yarborough swung Daniel around, banging him against the wall. Daniel yelped. "WHAT DID I DO?"

"Don't play innocent, Danny. You haven't been innocent since before you had hair around your dick. What did you say to that man? What did he say to you?" He grabbed the taller man's chin, squeezing roughly. "Did he touch you?"

"For God's sake, Andy! I was just in the same room with him, NOTHING HAPPENED!" "Are you sure about that?"

"I think I'd be able to tell by now."

Andrew slapped him, rocking his head to the side. Daniel cringed, holding his hand to the smarting spot, and praying this wouldn't be too bad. "What did I tell you about that smart mouth, Danny?"

The doors slid open, and the older man grabbed his lover by the shirt front and dragged him stumbling into the corridor. Their suite was nearby, and Andrew had the card key ready. Inside the suite, he wasted no time. He shoved Daniel to his knees.

Daniel knew what was expected, and didn't hesitate. Hesitation could bring reprisals. He quickly unbuckled Andrew's belt and lowered his zipper. For once he was grateful for those awful, baggy cotton boxers Andrew wore; they made it easier for him to work his rigid cock free of the cloth so he could get to it.

With no preliminaries, he lowered his mouth onto the turgid organ and took in as much as he could, starting to suck strongly. Personally, he enjoyed all the little tricks and techniques of foreplay. He would have liked to offer a slow, seductive blow job, complete with a multitude of gentle nibbles and licks, but that wasn't what this was all about. This wasn't love making. This was punishment.

He knew that, but it was brought home when Andrew buried his hands in his hair and jerked him forward, shoving hard at the same time. Daniel tried to keep quiet, but he couldn't help a little whine. It hurt, and Andrew knew that. Apparently the whine was considered disobedience, because it earned him a rough twist of the hair that brought tears to his eyes. Good. Andrew liked it when he cried. Maybe it would end more quickly.

Daniel tried to make his mind a blank, and concentrated on just breathing. He'd never been able to easily manage deep throating Andrew, and he knew that angered the older man. He couldn't help it. Perhaps if Andrew would go slower, be more patient...But he didn't, and he wasn't. Daniel had given up hoping for that a long time ago.

Daniel just grabbed Andrew's hips to support himself, and tried to ride it out. It wouldn't last long, it never did, thank God. He was sure that he truly would have suffocated by now if Andrew had any more stamina, because he never slowed or stopped.

Andrew drove himself in and out of his lover's mouth, relishing the heat and wetness, gloating over the submission. He owned this beautiful young man, could do whatever he liked with him.

He'd wanted Daniel since he had been a child, but he'd kept his hands to himself, waiting for the boy to reach legal age. Then, when he reached eighteen, Danny had just disappeared from his family and his social circle. Andrew had been furious. Though he'd never made an advance, he felt as if he'd been deserted, betrayed.

Then, four years later, he'd found Danny again. He spotted him at the Belmont Stakes, in a crowd of the wilder young people of their set. Heart pounding, Andrew had gone over to him, tapping him on the shoulder. Daniel had turned beautiful, blank hazel eyes on him, then they had lit with recognition. "Uncle Andy! That's right, you have a horse in this race don't you?"

They'd talked, and made a date for supper later that evening. He asked around. He found out that Daniel had been living with an older man up until a week or so before.

Andrew swore that he would move slowly, seduce the boy. But that evening, on the way back from their meal, he'd pulled the car into an alley and fallen upon him.

Daniel had made breathless, laughing protests, but in the end he had lain quietly while Andrew humped himself to completion against his thigh, ruining his fine silk pants. When it was done, Andrew had zipped up, apologized, and offered to replace the ruined garment. The next day he bought Daniel an Armani suit. A week later, he set him up in an apartment.

The memory of that first hot, fumbling tryst inflamed Andrew even more, and he began to fuck Daniel's mouth in earnest. It wasn't easy, and was almost as painful for him as it surely was for Daniel, but he forced himself all the way inside, probably bruising the young man's throat muscles, and not caring. He felt hot tears drip on his groin, and came explosively.

Daniel swallowed frantically, knowing better than to try to pull away, and the added sensation drove Andrew nearly crazy. He jabbed again and again, till he was totally spent, and Daniel was making desperate choking noises. Finally he withdrew his limp cock, and shoved, hard.

Daniel sprawled on the floor at his feet, and curled up into a ball, hugging himself. He was coughing and crying, trembling. Andrew watched him impassively, then said, "Why do you make me do this to you, Danny?" Daniel kept crying. "Answer me! Why do you make me do this?"

Daniel's voice was hoarse and weak, "I don't know, Andy. I'm sorry." He was wracked by a more violent sob. "I'm so sorry."

Andrew nodded in satisfaction. The little bitch had been shown his place again. He left him there on the floor and went to take a shower.

When he was sure the other man had left the room, Daniel managed to push himself to his feet, staggered over to the wet bar and vomited in the sink. Once he finished retching, he carefully rinsed away all evidence, and squeezed a lemon down the drain to hide the smell. It would be dangerous for Andy to know that he'd sicked up what he had given him.

Then he went into the bedroom, stripped, and crawled into bed, praying that the episode in the living room had been enough to satisfy Andrew for now. He just wasn't up to anything else. He went to sleep with tears streaking his face, and dreamed about green eyes.

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 14

Connor found that he couldn't stop thinking about Daniel Ballard. He looked for him in the hotel restaurant at lunch, and supper, and in the bar later, but he never appeared. Probably sleeping, he told himself. He'd complained about how tired he was. Connor HOPED that was all it was. He hadn't liked that last look that Andrew Yarborough had given him as he'd marched Daniel to the elevator.

Galbraith met a perfectly nice, perfectly willing German tourist in the hotel bar...and didn't do anything about it. He drank a while with the man, then bid him goodnight, and left him obviously bewildered. He lay awake for a long lime, staring up at the ceiling, trying to work out exactly where Daniel's room was in relation to his own. He fantasized that it was above his own. That right then, Daniel was lying under cool sheets, directly above him.

He imagined that long body in a graceful sprawl, brown hair tumbling over his forehead. When he imagined the hazel eyes opening, warm and liquid instead of fearful, as he'd last seen them, he started to masturbate. In his mind he stood over the man who stretched out on the bed, and reached to touch him. Daniel arched to his hand like a cat seeking caresses. He purred with pleasure as Connor stroked and kissed every inch of his body.

It ended too quickly. Connor was just picturing that lush mouth descending on his needy cock when his orgasm hit him unexpectedly. He cried out in mingled relief and frustration as he spilled his seed. Relief, because it was always good, frustration because he hadn't gotten any farther in his fantasy. But it was a little easier to sleep after that, because he had determined that it wasn't going to remain a fantasy forever. He was going to have that man.

He went to the restaurant the next morning, hoping that Daniel would be there. He was, but Yarborough was sitting with him. Connor chose a table at Yarborough's back, so he could observe without being observed. There was the remains of a huge breakfast before the older man. He'd obviously had a good appetite. Connor, seeing that Daniel looked a little haggard, wondered sourly what he had don't to work up that appetite.

Connor ate slowly, and his fondest wish was granted when Andrew signed the check and prepared to leave. He spoke to Daniel, who nodded listlessly, then left. Connor waited till he was well away, then got up and went over to Daniel's table.

Daniel was poking dispiritedly at the poached egg on his plate. He really couldn't manage anything harder than that this morning. His throat was very sore. He'd spit up a little blood last night. Andrew must have torn something in his throat again. He had gargled carefully with an antiseptic mouthwash, and it had stung dreadfully, but he supposed that meant it was healing.

When he noticed from the corner of his eye that someone was approaching, he prepared himself for another round of instructions and warnings from Andrew. Instead a soft, Irish tinted voice said, "Good morning, Daniel."

He looked up to find Connor Galbraith standing beside him, and felt an odd flutter in his stomach when he saw the warm expression in the other man's eyes. He found himself smiling, despite his discomfort. "Good morning."

"May I join you?"

Daniel glanced nervously toward the restaurant exit. Well, it should be safe enough. Andrew was going into the city to conduct business. He never dwaddled when he was on his way to a meeting, he would be out of the hotel by now. "Please." The waiter came over to see what Connor would have, and he ordered coffee. Daniel asked for hot tea with honey and lemon.

Connor cocked his head. "Is it for your throat? I'm thinkin' you sound a bit hoarse."

"Yes." Daniel said shortly.

"Ah." Connor didn't ask for an explanation, and didn't elaborate on his comment, and Daniel was grateful on both counts.

Connor sipped his coffee, watching as his companion chewed up a bit of egg and swallowed with obvious discomfort. There were no visible marks on Daniel's throat, so Connor could imagine what Yarborough had done to get him in this state. He wished that he could get HIS hands around the bastard's neck.

Daniel gave up on his breakfast and sipped his tea instead. The hot, sweet brew soothed his raw throat, and he sighed with relief. When he saw Connor watching him, he shrugged. "I should be better by lunch. I usually am." The thought that this happened often enough for him to have a routine to deal with it made Connor's hand tighten dangerously on the thin china cup.

For Daniel's sake, Connor did not comment. "Did you sleep well last night?"

Another shrug. "I slept. I'm a little better rested now, even if I do look like death on a cracker."

Connor laughed. "Nothin' of the sort. You look fine. I'm thinkin' it would be hard for you to look bad."

Daniel gazed into his tea cup, smiling almost shyly, "Yeah, well, you wouldn't say that if you saw me first thing in the morning, fresh out of bed."

Connor's voice was suddenly serious, "I'd like that." Daniel's eyes flashed up at him, his smile faltering just a little. No, that wasn't quite the look, Connor thought. It was a good look, a bit startled, and pleased, but it wasn't what he wanted. "Will you spend the day with me?"

Daniel put his cup down slowly. "Andrew most likely has eyes here. He's generous enough when it involves keeping tabs on me." He dabbed at his mouth with a linen napkin, and Connor wet his own lips, watching. Daniel saw, and paused with the cloth just touching his mouth. The two men stared into each other's eyes silently, neither one willing to look away. Finally Daniel dropped the napkin and stood up. "I enjoyed your company." He turned away, and hesitated. Not looking at Connor, he said in a low voice, "You know, it looks like rain, but I don't think I'll be able to resist going out to the beach in a little while." He walked away without looking back.

Connor followed the subtle sway of his hips as he left the room. He sat there for a while longer, coffee cooling unheeded. Then he went back to his room to change into his swimsuit.

The beach was a small jewel, several hundred yards of golden sand lapped by azure waters. Post card perfect. All that was missing was a brilliant sunset with two lover's silhouetted against it, and there would probably be that, later in the evening. If the weather cleared up.

Right now, the sky was a sullen iron gray, clouds roiling close to the ground. The `whispering winds' were working their way up toward a shout. As Connor exited the hotel, there was a rumble of thunder right overhead, and the first flash of lightening. Fat raindrops started to pelt down, striking hard enough to kick up tiny puffs of sand on impact.

The few guests who had been out on the beach made a dash for shelter. They filed past Connor, muttering disgustedly, some of them shaking off water like dogs. Connor stood under the small awning at the exit, the rain blowing in to spray his bare legs, and surveyed the beach. It was deserted, and Daniel hadn't come past him.

Then he noticed the tent. It was an open fronted canvas structure, facing the waves, just up past high tide level. Here the more sun sensitive tourists could enjoy the ocean without worrying about sunburn.

Connor regarded it thoughtfully. In this weather, that would be the perfect place for a meeting, if one did not want to be observed. Who would expect anyone to be out in this weather? Of course, he could be wrong. Daniel might be in his room, regretting the unspoken invitation. But somehow Connor didn't think so.

In any case, the rain was warm, and he was already wearing his trunks. What did a bit of wet matter? Especially if there might be a man like Daniel waiting for him out there?

Connor checked behind him, but there was no one near the entrance to observe him. He ducked his head, and darted out into the storm.

The thunder boomed again, and the dimness of the day brightened briefly with a lightening flash. Connor was drenched in seconds, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was almost like a tepid shower; refreshing. He made his way toward the tent at a steady trot.

As he approached, he felt his heart speed up, and realized how badly he wanted Daniel to be there. He was going to feel like a fool if it was empty. Or worse, was sheltering someone else.

He came around the side of the tent, and stopped at the entrance, looking inside, trying not to let his anxiety show. Daniel, seated cross legged in the center of the tent, looked up at him, and smiled. Connor just stood there, looking at him. He was wearing a pair of brief dark trunks that accentuated the pale perfection of his skin.

Galbraith knew he had been obviously staring when Daniel laughed softly and said, "Well, don't you have enough sense to come in out of the rain?"

Ethan stepped in the shelter, grinning. "I dunno. Me Ma seemed to think so."

Daniel arched an eyebrow. "Yes, but she WOULD be a bit prejudiced." There was a blanket spread almost wall to wall in the little tent, providing a dry and comfortable ground covering. Daniel tapped it. "Sit down, before I get neck strain talking to you."

Connor dropped down beside him. "Nice place you have here."

Daniel shrugged. "The rent is reasonable. The view..." He looked out across the ocean, which was pitching. White caps broke steadily, sending foam far up the shore. It wouldn't quite reach the tent, but it was close enough for a particularly strong wave to now and then send a fine mist into the shelter. The sky was almost purple, and the clouds were laced now and then with silver bursts of lightening, which gilded the underbellies of the clouds. "The view is magnificent."

"You don't mind it raining on your vacation?"

He snorted. "This isn't a vacation. I didn't want to come. Anyway, I like rain."

"Me, too. Well, then, I'd better, hadn't I? Bein' from Ireland."

"I hear it's real pretty over there." Daniel sounded a bit wistful. "I wouldn't mind going some day."

"I haven't seen much of the countryside meself, what with livin' in Dublin, but aye. It's a fair land." He paused. "I'd like to show it to you."

Ballard picked at the blanket, looking down at his hands. He didn't really understand what was going on. Oh, he knew that Connor Galbraith found him attractive. He'd made that evident enough. But he had to be aware of Andrew's...attitude. Did it really bother him so little? And then there was Daniel's own reactions. He'd flirted since almost before his age reached double digits. It usually came easy to him. Why was he feeling so awkward now?

Not looking at the Irishman, he said, "I guess I'm glad I came after all."

"I'm VERY glad you came."

Daniel took a deep breath, and committed himself. He picked up a towel lying by his side and said, "You're going to catch your death if you don't dry off a little."

Connor held out his hand for the towel, but Daniel tossed it lightly over his head, grabbed it, and began to tousle his hair vigorously. Connor chuckled, and allowed it. When he had most of the water out, Daniel removed the cloth and tried to finger comb Connor's damp locks into some sort of order. "What a mop you have," he murmured.

"I'll cut it."

"No!" More quietly. "No. I like it." He began to gently pat Connor's face with the soft terrycloth, pressing it to brow, cheeks, chin. Then he moved down to the other man's throat. He dried Connor's shoulders with short, slow strokes, and moved down to his chest.

Connor sat very still, his eyes alternating between Daniel's hand, and his face. He took hold of Ballard's hand and removed the towel, dropping it. Then he settled Daniel's fingers on his left nipple, and held them there. His other hand went up and caressed Daniel's cheek, then slid back into his hair to cup the back of his skull. He whispered, "Please, Danny."

Daniel drew a shaky breath, staring into Connor's eyes. Green eyes were supposed to be cool, but his were so warm. He didn't resist as Connor drew him closer, and he closed his eyes as the younger man touched his lips to his mouth.

It was gentle, sweet, and undemanding. Connor's lips moved on his, and Daniel opened his mouth to him. He shuddered as the warm, wet tongue slid in, brushing over his own. He moved his fingers, stroking Connor's nipple, and was pleased when the other man groaned into his mouth. He brought his other hand up, groping, and soon had teased both nipples into straining peaks. Galbraith let go of his hand, released his head, and reached over to begin the same exploration.

Their hands roamed each other's torsos, stroking and gently pinching, wringing muffled moans of pleasure, while their mouths stayed glued together. Finally Daniel had to pull back, gasping for breath and light headed. Connor dropped his head to nuzzle at Daniel's neck, nipping him lightly. Daniel tried to speak, "This...this is happening very fast."

Connor chuckled against his skin, making him shiver again. "I can be slow for you, darlin', if that's what ya fancy. I like slow, too."

"You don't know me, Connor." he said miserably. "You don't know what I've done." For some reason Daniel felt compelled to confront this man with the truth. He was aching, knowing that it could very well drive him away. But he'd dealt with so much hypocrisy in his life, and he just couldn't handle it any more.

"I know all I need to know."

"No, listen to me." He grabbed Connors hair and tugged, forcing him to look at him. "I...Andrew keeps me. I've always been kept, ever since I was young. I'm...really just a high class whore."

"Don't say that about yourself." Connor's voice was almost fierce. "Some people aren't cut out to make their own way in the world. Alright, so you're one of those. I don't care."

"But I'm Andrew's bitch."

"You're not!" The kiss this time was more forceful, as Connor pulled him into his arms, dragging Daniel onto his lap. He kept kissing him till the other man was breathless. "You're Danny, that's all you are. And that's enough for me."

"Con..." he whispered.

"Oh, aye," Connor purred. "Say my name like that. Say it again, sweet Danny."

"Con." His arms went around Galbraith's neck. And he curled into him, almost childlike, as if seeking warmth, or protection.

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 15

For a little while Connor just held Daniel. He didn't know it, but this was the sweetest gift he could have given him. Daniel wasn't used to being touched unless someone wanted something from him. Daniel's head rested on his shoulder, his arm's about Connor's neck, and he stared out at the stormy ocean dreamily.

After a bit, he turned his head and began softly sucking a patch of skin on the side of Connor's neck. Connor sighed, enjoying the intimacy. "Is it marking me you are, Danny?"

"Yes." Daniel bit lightly, licked, then went back to sucking.

"I like that. I'll wear it proud." He touched Daniel's throat. "I only wish I could do the same for you." Daniel stiffened in apprehension, and Connor soothed, "No, pet. I know better than that. I'll not give that bastard any reason to suspect you. But it will be a sacrifice." Again he touched Daniel's throat, and Danny arched his head back, offering himself more fully to the touch. "You'd look good with my mark on you, sweetheart. A bit of purple or red."

Daniel looked up at him, and now the look was what Connor had been hoping for. It was soft, warm, and wanting. Daniel began to kiss his way down Connor's chest. He found. the still hard nipples and licked them tenderly, bestowing soft bites. Connor groaned his appreciation, moving to hold Daniel's head. "Yes, sweetheart. Love me."

Ballard shifted off Galbraith's lap, but only to give himself more room. He ran his tongue down the lean torso to the flat, heaving abdomen, and spent a long moment lavishing it with every oral trick he could think of. Andrew only ever wanted a direct approach. Daniel relished the opportunity to use all his skills on an appreciative lover. He made Connor gasp and laugh by playfully dipping his tongue into his naval.

He reached for the waistband of Connor's trunks, pushing them down. Connor's cock sprang free, lifting proudly from a tangle of blue-black curls. Daniel touched it almost reverently. "You have a beautiful cock." He smiled mischievously. "I should know. I've seen a few."

Connor's voice was thick. "You'll not be thinkin' of them now, Boyo. You'll be paying attention to the one that's before ya." The tone was firm, but there was no harshness in it.

Daniel smiled to himself. "Yes, sir." He'd always hated it when Andrew demanded the submissive use of titles, but with this gentle, but intense Irishman, it felt right. He bent down and dropped a kiss on the pink, moist cock head, then swirled his tongue around it. Connor moaned.

Daniel started to take him into his mouth, and was startled when Connor pulled him up. "No, Danny."

Confused, he glanced from Connor's face to his rigid prick, and back. "But...I don't understand. Don't you WANT me to suck you?"

"Oh, more than you could possibly imagine. But not this time." He touched Daniel's throat again, concern mingled with the lust in his eyes. "Not while you're still hurtin' from what that shit did to you."

Daniel trembled. This man was willing to forgo his own pleasure for Daniel's sake. He could feel his eyes tearing up at this simple consideration, and wanted more than ever to do something good for him. "I want to make you happy."

"You will, dear one. Just not like that, not this time." Connor lifted, and removed his trunks completely. "Take them off. Let me see you."

Danny skinned his trunks down and tossed them aside. He was a little anxious. He knew he looked good in clothes, but there had always been a moment of anxiety the first time a new lover saw him naked. He wasn't entirely sure of himself till he could see the desire in their eyes, know that he hadn't proved a disappointment.

There was no doubt with Connor. His eyes positively glowed as they swept over the older man. And Daniel, who hadn't blushed for many, many years, felt the warm pink tide creeping up his face.

Galbraith pushed Daniel back slowly, stretching his body out over the other man's longer frame. Danny spread his legs, letting Connor settle between them, bringing their groins together. When their hard cocks touched, both made noises. Daniel, a soft gasp, Connor an exhalation.

Connor kissed Daniel again, and began to move against him, slowly. Daniel felt the sensuous slide of spongy-firm flesh rubbing against his dick, his belly, his hip, streaking him with warm precum. He undulated beneath the other man, rising to meet him. As his passion climbed, Connor began to thrust more strongly against his lover, holding his hips to guide him to greater pleasure. He reveled in the moans and whimpers that Daniel made. The sweet young man seemed helpless in his passion. It was a powerful stimulant, being able to cause such response.

Daniel's head tossed on the blanket, brown hair wild. His eyes were dark grey now, the gold, green and blue overwhelmed, the pupils dilated. "I'm close," he gasped. "So close..." He couldn't remember the last time someone had considered his sexual release, had tried to bring him to climax for any other reason than the fact that it would make their own experience more pleasurable.

"Then let go, darlin'," Connor whispered. He reached down and took both of their cocks in his hands, pressing them together, and pumped strongly. "Cum, Danny! Fly for me."

Daniel Ballard gave a choked wail. "CON! Oh, god..." and had the most shattering orgasm he'd had in years. His hot sperm bathed his belly, spurting almost to his chest, and coated Connor's hands. Connor went still, except that now his hands worked quickly, sliding in the slick cum, using it as a lubricant to finish jerking himself off.

He grunted, adding his cream to the mess slicking Daniel's heaving belly, feeling as if his very soul were pouring out, in tribute to the astonishing man writhing under him.

Then he lay against Daniel as they both shook, and slowly regained their breath and senses. Connor mover off his lover, lying beside him, and Daniel turned toward him on his side, pressing his forehead to Connor's shoulder. Connor stroked his hair tenderly, murmuring, "What a wonderful boy it is. What a treasure, what a marvel."

Daniel made a cooing sound against his flesh. Then he reached down and skimmed his fingers through the mingled semen on his belly, lifted his fingers to his lips, and licked them clean. He reached down again, and offered his hand to Connor. Connor gripped his wrist, gazed into his eyes, and carefully lapped the pearly drops away. They kissed again, and Daniel settled back with a sigh.

After awhile, Connor spoke in a low voice. "I love you, Danny boy."

Daniel closed his eyes, biting his lip. "You don't KNOW me, Con."

"We've been over this track before, haven't we?" He settled Daniel more comfortably in the crook of his arm. "It puts me in mind of what me grandma used to talk about. She'd say, `Connor, lad, there are two kinds of love, and neither is the better of the other. There's the kind that creeps on you, slow and gradual like. Then..'" Connor pointed out at the sky. As if on cue a huge flash of lightening split the clouds. "`Then there's The Thunderbolt' And that's what's happened to me, Danny. Square between the eyes. Maybe you're one of the slow an' gradual ones. I can wait. You don't have to say you love me now. But don't say that you don't, eh? Take a little time."

"We're only going to be here for three days."

"And who says you have to be leavin' with him?"

Daniel pressed his face against the smooth, fragrant chest of Connor Galbraith, mentally comparing it to Andrew's thick, powerful chest, covered with grizzled, graying hair. "He will."

"I might be havin' a say about that meself."

Daniel squeezed Connor's shoulder. "Please, Con. I think he may really be crazy. I..don't want you to get hurt."

"Don't trouble your mind about it right now, Boyo. There's time for that later. I don't want you thinkin' of that wanker right now, an' spoilin' our time together."

Daniel smiled. "Wanker? What's that?"

"Nothin' very nice." He whispered in Daniel's ear, "Well, I s'pose the American equivalent would be shit or bastard. But wanking..." He reached down and stroked his soft prick. "Is this."

Daniel smiled, but then it faded, and he stared up at the canvas overhead. "No, he doesn't really do that. That's why he has me."

"Stop it!" Connor shook him gently. "Don't talk about yourself like that."

"Like how?"

"Like you're...some sort of creature. A thing."

"But Connor, that's what I am. It's what I've let myself become. It wasn't always like that. When I first started out, I genuinely CARED for the men I went with. Oh, it wasn't deathless, romantic love. But it was SOMETHING. But with Andrew..." He blew out a breath.

"I was pretty desperate when Andrew came back into my life. My last daddy, oh, he was a sweety. Gave me everything. He was really old, almost eighty. He couldn't really...do anything any more. But he liked to touch me, hold me, look at me. I was happy with him. But he died, and his family stepped in."

Daniel grimaced. "God, they hated me. And it wasn't like any of THEM ever took the time to be with him. I took care of him those last few months, me and his nurse. We made it possible for him to stay at home. The day after he died they kicked me out. I was allowed to take one suitcase of clothes."

"The bastards!"

Daniel shrugged. "I suppose it was natural. They thought I was after him for all I could get. He DID leave me some, but I didn't find out about it till they contested the will. A little condo, a car, and a trust that would have paid me a couple of thousand a month for a year, so I could get on my feet. They froze it all. If I hadn't had about a thousand stashed out of my pin money and some good friends, I'd have been on the streets. Actually, that's where his son-in-law said I belonged; peddling my ass."

"Danny, you seem to have run into many people in your life I could very easily hate."

Daniel continued. "I was literally down to my last few dollars when a friend invited me to Belmont. And Andrew found me there. I remembered him, of course. He was around a lot when I was a kid. By the time I was fifteen, I knew he wanted me. I kept waiting for him to make a move. It was like waiting for a shoe to drop. I didn't WANT him to. I mean, I was never attracted to him. I finally figured out that he was waiting for me to get legal. The idea of chicken didn't turn him off, but the possibility of a statutory charge did. But I cut myself out of the family flock before he could do anything."

"So there I was, desperate straights, wolf at the door, mortgage foreclosed and all that melodramatic bull shit. And here comes old Uncle Andy. He's RICH, hee can afford me. And he still wants me. Lord, it came off him in waves. He did everything but lick me right out there at the track. I thought to myself, `Daniel, it could be worse.'" He chuckled bitterly. "Yeah, it could have been worse. I could have run to a sociopath instead of just an ass hole."

"But I didn't feel like I had any choice, and I could always leave later, right? So I accepted a dinner invitation. His eyes just...crawled over me all evening. I didn't have to do anything. I knew it was coming. It was just a matter of waiting for it. And on the way home he pulled into an alley, and dry humped me. He bought me clothes the next day. Expensive clothes. Roles established."

"Daniel," Connor said quietly, "Let me tell you something. I have some friends in the theater. I'm quite fond of it, I go when I can. And I've learned one thing. No matter how firmly an actor is established in a role, he doesn't stay in it forever." He stroked Daniel's chin. "He moves on."

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 16

The fifth day Mulder was with Hunt, their passports arrived in the mailbox. Fox studied his curiously. The thing was, it didn't look brand new. It wasn't exactly BATTERED, but there were signs of wear. And judging from the stamps, `he' had been to a lot of different place. Daniel and Connor got around. London, Paris, Italy, Turkey... All in tandem. One indeed never seemed to go anywhere without the other.

Fox and Ethan studied lists of the other couple's favorite hang outs. This included employees they might be expected to know, and any incidents that might be remembered from a time they were there. There were a few times when Connor had gotten into fist fights when someone showed a little too much attention to his lover, and didn't take the hint to shove off. The tough Irishman always seemed to come out ahead in those brawls, but no one had been seriously injured. Well, unless you considered broken noses and missing teeth serious.

"He is just REAL protective of Daniel, isn't he?" Mulder remarked. "One of the beatees is rumored to have been bought out of a civil suit."

"He was most likely persuaded that a few thousand and a long, healthy life were better than many thousand and a few months in a wheelchair."

"Do I really need to know that Connor punched some guy's lights out in `Trancers' a year and a half ago because he grabbed Daniel's butt again after being warned?"

"It can't hurt. Besides, the more we know of their life together, the easier it will be to portray them convincingly."

"Yeah, but you said the Montaña had never met them personally."

"But we can't be sure of what he has or hasn't heard. And people in those circles tend to get around. It's a real possibility that someone who DOES know Daniel and Connor will show up. We have to be as prepared as is humanly possible."

"I'm starting to get the impression that you AREN'T human, Hunt. You're too damn efficient. Are you sure you're not a cyborg, or something?"

Ethan gave him a mock serious look. "Would I be aware of it if I were?"

"Joke, joke. You haven't seen some of the things I have."

"I'm human, alright, Mulder." Ethan had stood up, and walked behind Mulder's chair. His hands settled on the FBI agent's shoulders. This time, Mulder didn't tense up. Instead, he relaxed into the touch. Unseen, Ethan smiled. He'd really enjoyed that spontaneous blow job this morning. It showed a playful side of Mulder that he really liked, and he wanted more of it. He was perfectly willing to be the aggressor, most of the time. Most of the time.

Hunt started to massage, already a little familiar with what his new lover enjoyed. Fox's head dropped forward, and Ethan bent to nibble at the nape of his neck, drawing a shiver. He whispered in Mulder's ear. "I'm just a man. Flesh and blood." He nipped at his earlobe.

Mulder felt his cock stiffening at the same time the rest of his body seemed to be melting under Hunt's hands. Damn, what WAS it about this man? The slightest touch, the smallest look, the very tone of his voice, could speed Mulder's pulse. Was this how things were between Ballard and Galbraith? If so, he could almost understand their devotion to each other.

They hadn't made love the previous night. Mulder hadn't admitted it to himself, but he'd been looking forward to it. And Ethan HAD pulled him into his arms after the lights were out. But then he had just kissed Mulder, almost chastely, tucked the older man's head comfortably against his shoulder, and gone to sleep. Mulder had lain there for a long time, puzzled. Didn't Ethan WANT him?

He'd thought about initiating contact. Perhaps nothing more than a gentle, questioning squeeze to Hunt's cock, but he hesitated. During the hours between the morning eye opener and bed, a little of his unsureness had crept back in. What it that had been all that Ethan had wanted from him?

Fox knew that was how it was with some men, no matter what their sexual preference. The conquest was everything. Once they had what they wanted, well...It just wasn't quite as appealing. He hoped very strongly that Ethan wasn't one of those.

Now he was beginning to think that his fears might have been unfounded. Especially since Ethan had reached around, unbuttoned his shirt, and was now playing with his nipples. Fox hummed appreciatively as Ethan stroked and plucked them to aching fullness. "Shall we adjourn to the bedroom?"

"Nah." Mulder scarcely had time to be surprised by the refusal, as Ethan gripped him under the arms and pulled him up.

Mulder staggered a little as Hunt kicked the chair out from between them, not releasing his grip. Then one arm went around his chest, the other around his waist, and Ethan pulled him back tight against his body. "You did good yesterday morning, but you still need to learn to be a little more spontaneous."

"I like to plan my spontaneity. Oh..." He gasped quietly as Hunt simultaneously palmed his hard on, and ground his own erection against Fox's ass.

Hunt turned an unresisting Mulder, and kissed him as he worked at loosening belts and opening pants. When Mulder tried to help, Ethan took Mulder's hands and place them on his shoulders, saying, "Just hold on to me for right now...Danny." The Irish lilt was back in his voice.

Fox did as he was bid, feeling a bit disoriented. He wasn't sure he liked having Ethan direct this kind of attention at him...at Daniel? He couldn't be sure. And was it essentially Ethan, or Ethan as Connor who was about to make love to him? The lines of reality were starting to blur. *After all the crap I've been through, a little ambiguity shouldn't bother me. Why does it?*

Ethan worked both sets of trousers and underwear down their thighs, then even further. Then he reached behind Mulder and swept the notes off the table, sheets fluttering everywhere. He slowly started to bend Mulder back across the table.

Mulder clutched at him. "E..Con, what are you doing?!"

"I'm gonna make love to you, sweetheart."

"Well, let's go in the bedroom. Or over to the sofa."

"Nah. Right here." He kissed Fox's throat.

Fox moaned. "Con, we EAT off this table!"

"What the hell dya think they invented sponges for, ya daft boyo?"

"It...it won't hold. How will I explain cuts on my ass when they stitch me up at emergency?"

"It's sturdy enough, and we won't actually be ON TOP of it. Not fully, anyway."

In a last ditch effort, Mulder gasped as his butt struck the glass. "Con, it's COLD!"

"Poor baby." Ethan had pushed his legs apart, and now he moved into the vee of his spread thighs. "Let me warm you a wee bit." He started to hump his crotch against Mulder's.

At the first exquisite slide of flesh on flesh, Mulder quit even the half hearted struggle. Despite Ethan's assurance, Mulder wasn't so confident of the table's ability to hold up under a serious buffeting, so he was hanging on to Ethan for dear life, legs quivering with the effort to support most of his weight.

Ethan was not a completely altruistic person, and cheerfully took advantage of Mulder's helpless position. This time he allowed his lover to be responsible for holding himself up, and just enjoyed. He gripped Mulder's hips and moved against him strongly. He relished the taut arch of Mulder's long body, the way he was more or less helpless to move, lest he lose his balance.

"Connor," Mulder moaned, "You're a goddam sadist! I can't MOVE!"

Ethan bit lightly at his throat, hips thrusting. "Then just take it, m'love."

Take it Mulder did. Soon he was whimpering with helpless arousal, unable to do anything but hang on end experience what Ethan/Connor was doing to him. "I'm gonna get you for this, you bastard." he panted. "You won't know where, and you won't know when, but you are gonna PAY."

"Ah, well, I like me surprises now instead of later, so..." Mulder yelped, startled, and Ethan suddenly collapsed backward. Both of them retained their grips: Mulder on Hunt's shoulders, Hunt on Mulder's hips, and when they ended up on the floor, Mulder was on top of Hunt.

Ethan grinned up at him, and said, "Ya were sayin' somethin' about takin' revenge?"

Mulder responded with a growl, immediately beginning to rub against the man beneath him. Ethan found that those long limbs were very effective at trapping and holding.

Ethan pushed up to meet him, purring, "Oh, yeah. Looks like you can top as well as bottom, doesn't it? Show me, pretty one."

Mentally cursing the lack of condom and lube, but not willing to pause for even a moment, Mulder continued. How was it possible for sex to feel this good without any actual penetration? But there it was. The silky, hot slide of Ethan's cock against his own was driving him crazy. He pounded against the younger man, wondering vaguely if he was going to leave bruises on that wonderful pale skin, but not able to stop.

It didn't seem that Ethan was worried about that. He managed to wrest his legs free of Mulder's entwining limbs, but only kicked his pants the rest of the way off, then wrapped his legs around Mulder's waist to hold him even tighter.

But Ethan couldn't entirely give up control of the situation. He felt the need to have more influence over Mulder's responses, so he pulled his head down, put his lips next to the FBI agents ear, and began to whisper lasciviously.

"Feels so good, sweets. Such a lovely, hard prick you have, it's a shame I can't have it inside me. That's what I want, Danny. You won't make me wait long, will you? I want you inside me soon. I want to feel that hot meat plunge into me, right to the core."

Mulder was speeding up, striving against him almost frantically. "You're torturing me, Con." He managed to keep up the illusion, but it cost him.

"Aye, and you love it. Enjoy this, baby. `Tisn't often a daddy lets his boy fuck him." A dark, liquid chuckle that made Mulder moan, balls clenching. He froze, trying not to cum, wanting to prolong it. But Ethan sensed this, and reached down, firmly grasping his balls and rolling them in the velvety, furry skin sack.

Mulder shuddered, his orgasm flowing over him before he could try to hold it back. He felt the hot gush of liquid lust between their bodies, and was gratified to hear Ethan groan also, feel him twitch. His orgasm had triggered the spy's. So Hunt wasn't quite as in charge as he perhaps might like to be.

Fox was right, Ethan HADN'T been planning on cumming quite that soon. He had intended to sweetly torment Fox for a while longer. He was a little surprised that Mulder could force this response from him.

Perhaps it would be better if he thought about this a little more. On a mission, it was imperative that he remain in control at all times. And this mission, in particular...

He was becoming close to Mulder. Not just in a sense of professional comradery, or sexual play, either. That could be dangerous: both physically, and emotionally. He remembered what a wrench it had been, sending Nyah to Sean Ambrose, knowing what would happen. But he had done it, and hated himself for it. The greater good sometimes came with a fucking high personal price tag.

As much as Ethan didn't want to admit it to either Mulder or himself, there was a very real possibility that Olivero de la Montaña would be sexually interested in either Danny or Connor. And would Connor, as much as he loved Daniel, be willing to pass up what he could gain by playing along, and coaxing his lover to do the same? Not likely, thought Ethan, as he held the now quiet Mulder, stroking his back absently. Connor didn't seem one to pass up the main chance.

It was a little surprising how Ethan Hunt, usually so astute in his estimation of others, could be so wrong about this...

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 17

Casa de los Vientos del Susurro had seen more than it's share of young couples falling in love, and more than one couple with the need to be discrete about their relationship. Daniel and Connor fit both descriptions.

They stepped out into the now gentle rain, and let the natural shower wash away the traces of their passion. They gently rubbed the sticky residue of sperm off each other's bodies, kissing softly all the while, shielded from prying eyes by the tent that stood between them and the hotel. Between them and the world, it seemed to Connor. As much as he wanted to stay in the beach side tent, just holding his Daniel and shutting out the world, things would have to be dealt with at some point.

Daniel walked up to the hotel first. He looked so alone, trudging with his head bowed against the rain, that it was all Connor could do not to run and scoop him into his arms, Yarborough's spies be damned. But he couldn't do that, because it was Daniel who would have to face the consequences.

Connor waited a good fifteen minutes before making his way back to the main building. A bellman, lounging near the entrance, bored with waiting for a guest to arrive and need assistance, watched him approach. Where had this one come from? He wished he hadn't been looking at the chamber maid's tits, or he might have seen which direction the Irishman had come from. Senor Yarborough was paying well to have an eye kept on his pico chipero.

Ah, now THAT was a real ninfo, that one! An ass that almost made Pedro sorry that he didn't jugar a los dos bandos. He bet that ass was tighter than most cunts. But neither of the men who were interested in it seemed inclined to share.

Pedro grinned engagingly at the dripping green eyed man. "Senor! Have you been out in this rain all this time?"

Connor looked at him shrewdly, wiping water from his face. "I sheltered under some trees. Daft, I know, what with that lightenin', but there it is." *Careful, Connor m'lad. Danny says Yarborough has his eyes out. I wonder how much he's payin' this one, and if it would be worth while to try and better the offer?* Ah, well. If he asked, the man would know for sure that something was up with Danny boy. Better to leave him with suspicions rather than firm convictions.

It was just as well that Connor took that tact, because Pedro decided not to mention the Irishman to Senor Yarborough. He'd just say that his toy had spent some time on the beach, sulking alone in the tent.

Connor wouldn't have been able to bribe Pedro. While he might have offered more cash, the yankee was the hotel manager's friend, and HE controlled not only Pedro's job, but those of several of his family members. Money wouldn't have been enough to make the Brazilian risk the livelihood of so many, and he didn't know Connor well enough to worry about his physical well being if he crossed the Irishman.

He went to his room and got into his clothes. It was chilly, and Connor turned off the air conditioner, and slid open the door out into his garden, letting the fresh, rain scented breeze blow through.. He stretched out on his bed, hands tucked beneath his head, and stared up at the ceiling much as he had the night before. The difference was that now he had memories instead of fantasies. And Daniel was so much more than the fantasies...

He smiled to himself, remembering Daniel curled, warm and near naked on his lap, softly sucking at his throat. Connor fingered the slightly sore patch. He'd have a bruise there, alright, he thought with satisfaction. And Yarborough had no reason to know who had given it.

Three days, he'd said. Well, that wasn't much, but it was sufficient. He could make Daniel Ballard love him in three days, he had no doubt.

When Andrew returned that evening, he found Daniel dressed to go out, but lying across the bed on his stomach, chin propped on his hands. They usually DIDN'T go out these days, but his boy knew enough to be ready to comply with his daddy's impulses, whatever they were.

Yarborough went over and sat on the bed beside the man he considered to be his property. "Hello, Daniel. How was your day?"

Daniel didn't move, just slanting his eyes sideways at him. "Boring."

"You could have read a book."

"I can read a book anywhere, Andy. I'm in Rio. I didn't want to come in the first place, but now that I'm here, it's deathly being restricted to the hotel."

Andrew laid a hand on his back, and felt Ballard stiffen slightly. He frowned. Danny always seemed to be tense these days when he touched him. It was irritating, and a little insulting. Andrew Yarborough didn't take well to either.

But he resisted the urge, magnanimously he thought, to cuff his lover on the back of the head. Instead, he started to stroke Daniel's back. "I just can't trust you out in public away from me, Danny. I tell you what, we'll go down to the hotel bar tonight. How will that be?"

*Almost as bad as staying in, if it wasn't for the fact that Connor will probably be there.* He made his voice interested when he replied. "That would be nice. Do they have a band?"

"I think so. But you're not dancing." Now Daniel turned his head, giving him a sour look. "No, Danny. I'm not having everyone looking at you shake your butt."

"Why not? I know you like to show me off. You get that gloating `you can look, but you can't touch' expression on your face." This time Andrew DID cuff Daniel, a medium strength slap to the side of the head. *Damn, I gotta be more careful. I can't just say whatever I feel, not with Andrew.*

"I'm sorry." The words had become almost a reflex. Daniel wondered when that had happened.

"Alright." Andrew continued to rub Daniel's back.

It wasn't to give any pleasure or comfort to the other man, it was simply a gesture while he thought, like doodling, and Daniel knew it. Then he felt Andrew's hand, palm flat, start to slide under his waistband in back, and he knew what he was thinking about. *It wouldn't be so bad if it was because he wanted to fuck me, but it isn't. It's because he wants to know if someone ELSE fucked me.* He'd been through this before, when Andy was suspicious, so he knew that it would be best if he just laid there and took it.

"Open your pants, Danny." Silently Daniel lifted his hips far enough to allow his hands to slip under. He undid his belt and button, pulling down his zipper, then lay back quietly, preparing himself for what was coming.

Andrew worked the garments down Daniel's thighs, and paused for a moment to admire the white, perfect globes. Daniel had an ass like a deeply cleft peach. He'd lost count of the times he'd felt compelled to sink his teeth into that smooth perfection, drawing a cry of pain.

The older man massaged Daniel's buttocks. "Were you a good boy today?"

Daniel closed his eyes, hating this. *Why do you ask? You never believe me.* But he knew what was expected. "Yes, Uncle Andy. I was real good."

"Let's see." He gripped, sinking his thumbs into the crease, and pried Daniel open roughly. The boy winced, but said nothing. He knew that the painful part was still to come. *I don't enjoy this* Yarborough lied to himself. *It's necessary, and it's for his own good. It keeps him honest. Well, as honest as a whore like Danny CAN be.*

Andrew bent close and looked. The anus was tiny and puckered, as always when Daniel hadn't been fucked for awhile. But then, Ballard was remarkably resilient. Andrew had learned that over the years. There was only one way to be sure that someone hadn't gotten in where they shouldn't, and even THAT wasn't one hundred per cent, if they'd used a condom. But he still had to test.

Daniel tried to relax, willing his muscles to loosen, soften. If he just had a little more time to prepare himself...But then, that was the whole point of this exercise. He wasn't SUPPOSED to be ready for it. He felt the first touch against the tight flesh, and was grateful that Andrew had gotten a manicure yesterday at the barber shop.

He scarcely had time to think this when Andrew shoved, hard. He rammed one thick, blunt finger all the way into Danny's dry back passage, and Daniel couldn't contain the whimper of pain. Damn, it hurt!

Andrew felt his cock stiffen, listening to the sound of discomfort made by the man impaled on his finger. Daniel was tight, and dry, so he probably hadn't had sex. That was all he could hope to learn by this. There was no need to take it any further.

No need...except that he wanted to. He pulled back and rammed in again, watching as Daniel dropped his face to the mattress, his hands fisting in the sheet beside his head. He'd known a long time ago that Daniel would never love him, and he accepted that as best he could. He couldn't make Danny love him, but he could make him FEEL.

He crammed in a second finger, sawing them in and out brutally. Daniel was gasping and trembling, trying not to make any more noises that might anger him. Good, that was how it should be. His very being should be concentrated on keeping Andrew happy.

Partially to reward him for his submission, but mostly to add a bit more humiliation, Andrew crooked his fingers, pushed even harder, and found Danny's prostate.

Daniel jerked, eyes flying open in horror. *Oh, dear God, no! Not that.* Every now and then Andrew got it into his mind to make Daniel cum, strictly for reasons of his own, of course. And he always did it in the most debasing and rough manner possible. Unfortunately, this was a way that Danny couldn't combat, even by passive resistance.

"Uncle Andy, please," he breathed.

"Sure, Danny. Sure."

*Is he WILLFULLY misunderstanding, or is he really that delusional?* Andrew hit his prostate again, and Daniel almost cried as he felt his cock starting to harden. The damn nerve endings had no time for nonsense like romance when they were being stimulated.

All he could do was endure. At least it never lasted long. Andrew was now massaging the little gland steadily. Wave after wave of impossibly intense sensation was sweeping over Daniel, making him sweat, making his hear race. But it was only pleasure in the most primitive, biological sense. By no means was Daniel Ballard enjoying this.

But when Andrew whispered, "Does it feel good?", he responded, "Oh, yes, daddy! Yes!" and cursed himself for a coward and a liar. *Forgive me, Con. I can't help it. I have to.*

His dick was hard as a rock now, pre seminal fluid dampening the spread beneath him. The cloth was cool and silky beneath his tender, heated flesh, and he wanted desperately to hump against it, get this over more quickly. But he couldn't do anything without permission, not if he didn't want SERIOUS pain. So far Andrew had only talked about fisting. Daniel wasn't about to risk pushing him into a decision by acting without express approval. He didn't think he'd survive a fisting session with Andrew.

He moaned. That didn't take any real acting ability, not with the combination of pain and forced passion he was experiencing. Daniel rolled his head to look back at the man ravaging his ass, trying to make his expression lustful, his voice hot. "Please, daddy, can I jerk off?"

Andrew grinned at him, his hand moving even more strongly. "Is that what you want, son?"

*God, he really gets off on this pseudo incestuous pedophilia play. Thank God he never had children.* "Please, daddy, please. With sugar on it?"

"Only naughty boys play with themselves."

"No, daddy, I'm a good boy. It just feels so good. Pretty please."

"You have to be special nice to daddy later."

"I know. I will."

"Alright." Daniel gritted his teeth as Andrew pulled free, emptying his anal passage. "Show daddy how you play with yourself."

Daniel's face was burning with anger, sorrow, and shame, but he knew that Andrew, self involved Andrew, would interpret it as passion. He rolled onto his back, his rigid cock swaying. Spreading his legs as far as his still on pants would allow, he slowly and sensually licked his hands, wetting the palms and fingers. Andrew watched avidly. Daniel was better than any pornographic tape he'd ever seen. He'd thought about filming him for later enjoyment, but the ever present possibility of blackmail always stopped him.

Once his hands were sufficiently wet, Daniel reached down and grasped himself firmly. Clear precum drizzled from his pee slit, and he slicked it over his straining flesh. Added to his saliva, it made his hands slide smoothly. No chafing. He started to stroke, his rhythm quicker than he would have liked, personally. But Andrew liked things fast, and the quicker this was over...the quicker it was over.

He closed his eyes, pumping with one hand, and reaching down with the other to tickle the sensitive spot just behind his balls. He heard the rasp of a zipper, then the slap of flesh on flesh as Andrew began to masturbate, watching him. *Let this be enough, Lord. Please don't let him want to climb in the saddle. Please, not this time. Not when I can still feel Connor on top of me.*

And that was how he was going to get through. *It's not Andy sitting there beside me, it's Con. Beautiful Con, sweet Con. Con, who says he loves me. Con, who cares how I feel. Connor, who can just HOLD me...*

Daniel was hot tonight, Andrew thought, stroking himself briskly. He usually seemed almost reluctant to get turned on by these little sessions, but tonight... His face was flushed and intent, eyes squeezed shut, mouth softly open. As Andrew watched, the tip of his talented pink tongue crept out and wet his full lower lip, leaving it glistening. Andrew grunted, his hand speeding up.

In Danny's mind, all he had to do was open his eyes, and he would be looking up into Connor's tender green gaze. One hand left his throbbing prick to glide across his chest, plucking at his own nipples. *Connor's hands, fingers long and elegant. He knows just how to touch me, he can find all the sweet spots.*

The young man's hips began to lift as he fucked up into his own hand. He was moaning steadily now. Andrew's voice was thick with lust. "That's it, you whore! Squeeze your prick harder! You love it. You can't live without a man's touch.. Cum for me."

*Damn you, Andrew, don't TALK! Let me pretend. And I'm going to cum, Uncle Andy, but it damn sure won't be for you. This is for you, my sweet Con.*

Then he was climaxing, hot, milky spurts of sperm bathing his hand and belly and he was gasping, "Coh..coh..." Catching himself, the terror of what he'd almost done giving a spurt of adrenalin that made his orgasm even more powerful, Daniel changed `Connor' into, "Ca-can't stop, daddy! Oooh..." his voice rose in a wail of mingled release and frustration, a maddening combination. "I'm sorry! I'M SORRY!"

Andrew knelt up beside him quickly, maneuvering himself so that he shot his load onto Daniel's heaving belly. Daniel lay staring up at him as he milked his softening cock, stripping the last of his seed. Triumph did not have to be an ugly thing, if it was not achieved at the expense of others. But that was never the case with Andrew Yarborough.

In a moment, Andrew got a wad of tissues and cleaned himself off. Then he grabbed a handful of Daniel's hair and shook his head with what could almost pass for brusque affection. "Go get cleaned up. And make yourself pretty. You're right. I DO like to show you off."

"Yes, daddy."

Daniel pulled his pants up as much as he could without soiling them and hobbled into the bathroom, hating the awkwardness of the situation. He got a cloth, soaked it in warm water, and wiped the mess off his stomach. For a moment, he paused, remembering his cum mingling with Connor's that afternoon. Sliding his fingers in it, tasting their combined flavors, and watching Connor as he'd licked the creamy stuff off Daniel's fingers like it had been his favorite treat.

For a moment, Daniel put his head down on the sink and cried. He'd gotten very good at crying without making noise. Then he washed his face, made himself decent, and started to comb his hair. He'd been ordered to make himself pretty.

Connor might be there tonight. Daniel intended to be fucking GORGEOUS.

* * *

Author's note: This wasn't how I'd intended for Daniel to leave Andrew. I was going to drag it out a little more. But then Andrew snarled at Daniel about the cherry, and Daniel just snapped. I swear, I didn't have any choice in the matter. I think Daniel is a 'bossy bottom'.

******************************************

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 18

Connor ate dinner early. He knew he couldn't sit with Daniel without raising questions better left unspoken, and he didn't want to have to sit across the room and watch him. Oh, he wanted to watch him, all right. Connor thought he'd never get tired of looking at Daniel Ballard. But here, in the public room, he wouldn't be able to TOUCH, and he felt that might just drive him mad.

Yarborough was due back in the early evening, and Daniel was hoping to persuade him to go out. Connor got a seat at the bar in the hotel lounge where he could keep an eye on the front lobby. If they left, it would be simple enough to find out where they had gone. Cabbies in any country were notoriously easy to bribe. Then he'd just see if he could find a way to slip a bit closer to his Daniel.

He thought it might be possible, if he were careful. From what he'd heard from his new lover, his daddy liked to tease others with his toy. Of course, if Daniel acted like he enjoyed it, or batted an eyelash one time over the unspoken limit Andrew had set, he suffered. "I almost hate goingout with him now, and I used to have so much fun," Danny had sighed. "But it just isn't worth the stress of constantly worrying whether I stand too close to someone, or smiledat them two seconds too long."

Not really feeling like drinking, he ordered a cognac. He could sip that slowly without drawing attention to his pace. It was almost nine when Andrew and Daniel came down to the lobby. Connor gazed into his small balloon glass as if the secrets of the universe were swimming in the inch of amber liquid he swirled around its bottom. He was acutely aware when Daniel passed by. There was no acknowledgment from Danny, and he didn't expect one. Andrew had a firm grip on his arm, guiding him to a table in the back.

Connor turned casually, as if watching a passing woman clad in a tight red sheath dress. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, but she was just an excuse for him to end up facing Daniel's table. Andrew was busy givingtheir drink order to the waitress, and Daniel risked an unguarded look at Connor. He glanced quickly at the woman, looked back at Connor, and arched one brow derisively. Connor smiled, and shook his head.

When Andrew turned his attention back to his companion, Daniel was calmly eating cashews from the courtesy bowl provided for each table. Andrew didn't quite frown. "You should ease up on the carbs, Danny. You'll get fat as a pig."

"And then you'll throw me out." His tone was mildly sarcastic, but his eyes said *If I thought that would WORK...*

"Oh, no, Danny. Then I'll put you on a regime, like one of my horses--in training." Connor saw Daniel's hand clench over the bowl. The fingers slowly uncurled, releasing the few nuts he'd been about to eat, and Connor mentally cursed Yarborough. He meant it, the son of a bitch. He'd have Danny on short rations and a monitored exercise schedule.

A steady trickle of people made their way over to the table, most sitting for a few minutes, but they all concentrated on Yarborough. Danny was left sitting, morosely sipping his drink while the talk flowed over, past, and around him. It was insulting. He was being treated like a child brought along on an adult outing, expected to be silent and behave himself.

The band had been on break, but now they started playing. The music was lively, Latin. He seemed to recall that the Americans called it salse, after the spicy sause. Daniel wanted to dance. A blind man could have seen that. His fingers tapped the table in rhythm. He shifted in his seat minutely, as if he were helpless NOT to react. Connor could almost feel the energy radiating off him. He had a feeling that Daniel in motion would be a beautiful thing. But Andrew noticed the tiny movement, and laid a heavy hand on Daniel's arm, frowning. Ballard sighed, and went still, settling down to being ignored again. Connor found that he was gritting his teeth. He very carefully unclenched his jaw. He intended to get over to that table somehow, and it wouldn't due to let his hostility show. Daniel would be the one to suffer.

He got his chance when the twist in the red dress sauntered up to the bar to get another drink. It would have been much easier for her to wait at a table, but the sideways glance she gave Connor told him she had her reasons for taking the bother. *And here's your ticket in, Connor m'lad.* She had been talking with Yarborough.

Connor gave her his best smile, the one with the little extra crook at the corners. "Hello, darlin'." He also thickened his brogue.

"Hello yourself. I thought you looked familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?"

"I'm Connor Galbraith."

Her hand was small and soft when she gave it to him. Her fingers lingered on his palm a bit longer than was strictly polite. "June Craven. Are you SURE we haven't met?"

"Hm, now let's see... It might have been at Ascot. No? Perhaps The Kentucky Derby? Maybe The Irish Nationals?"

"Are you part of the horsy set?"

"Darlin', I own Galbraith Farms. I've had a horse in each of the races I've mentioned."

She brightened. "Really? Isn't this a small world? I have a friend over there who raises thoroughbreds, also: Andrew Yarborough."

"Yarborough, did you say? Now there's a man with a reputation." *Though I'll not be sayin' what KIND of reputation.*

"Would you like to meet him?"

"I'd be pleased." Connor finished his drink and followed her over to the table, ostensibly keeping his eyes on the sway of her hips. Daniel didn't look up as he approached, but he plucked at a cocktail napkin, slowly reducing it to a pile of confetti. Yarborough frowned at Connor, his eyes flicking quickly to catch his companion's reaction to the handsome man who'd just arrived.

June burbled, "Andy! Look who I ran into! It's Connor Galbraith."

*Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. You'd think I was her cradle friend to listen to her.*

Yarborough nodded distantly, and June rolled her eyes. "You don't mean to tell me you don't recognize the name in YOUR business? Galbraith Farms,Ireland."

This sparked a bit of reluctant interest. "Yes? There have been some fine animals come out of those stables."

"Aye. Me personal favorite would be Morag's Faerie Queen." *Which is true. I won near 100 pounds on the nag last year.*

Andrew was nodding. "Good bloodline. That's very important. Of course, fine breeding doesn't necessarily assure a superior beast." He looked at Daniel, whose face slowly reddened. "This is my friend, Daniel Ballard." Daniel and Connor exchanged cordial nods. "Have a seat, Mr. Galbraith. Tell me, do you have any other interests besides horses?"

"To tell you the truth," Connor regretfully sat beside Andrew, across from Daniel, with June on his other side. "Me Da runs the farm. I'm more into me own business."

"And what would that be?"

"Oh, this and that. Mostly... distribution, and pharmaceuticals. Import, export." Now Danny did look at him, sharply. Connor could see the switches clicking in his mind. *Oh, he's 'cute one, is my Danny.* Finally Danny sat back, head dipped slightly, and slipped a gaze at Connor, and Connor met him without flinching. There was no judgement in his eyes, and Connor felt a great weight lift. He'd been worried about how Danny would feel abouthis... enterprises.

Connor and Yarborough discussed racing for a bit. Since Connor had always fancied the ponies, he'd made a study of them, and could more than hold up his end of the conversation. As he spoke, he felt something touch his foot gently. At first Connor ignored it, thinking that it was June being kittenish. But when he felt a small, warm hand on his knee under the table, he realized that the angle was wrong. No, that touch had to be coming not from BESIDE him, but from ACROSS the table. Again Daniel wasn't looking at him, but he was smiling faintly, and Connor could detect just the slightest of movements...

He kept his eyes resolutely on Andrew Yarborough while June Craven massaged his leg, moving up to the inner thigh, and Daniel's foot softly stroked his calf. He started to get hard, and it wasn't because of June's more intimate manipulations. He hadn't thought that his lower leg could be an erogenous zone. It seemed that Danny might be able to teach him a thing or two. *Oh, be careful, me darlin'. It's a dangerous game your playin', with that shite sittin' right beside you.*

Danny fished the maraschino cherry out of the dregs of his drink, holding it by the tip of the stem, and contemplated it, as if it held the secrets of the universe. He took the tiny red ball in his mouth and sucked on it softly, eyes downcast. Connor had to put his hands down at his sides and dig his nails into his palms, but he kept his expression bland. *So, here's another side of you, Danny. You like to tease, do you? Well, I like to BE teased. But rest assured, sweet boy, that you WILL make good on the promise that you're not speakin' out loud.*

"For heaven's sake, Daniel! EAT the damn thing and get it over with."

*Does the man HAVE blood in his veins?*

Daniel dared a surly look at his older *old, his old, I'M the new* lover, and neatly nipped the cherry from the end of the stem, chewing slowly.

"There are times, Daniel, when you are SUCH a child."

Daniel's posture straightened, and his beautiful hazel eyes narrowed. Connor watched in fascination as they seemed to darken with anger. "Yeah, well, that's what you LIKE, isn't it, Daddy?"

Yarborough flushed, his complexion going to a dusty brick shade. "Watchyour smart mouth, boy!"

"But Daddy," there was a scornful twist to the title, "You like THAT too!" He looked at June, who had dropped her hand from Connor's leg, and looked stunned. "He's particularly fond of my smart mouth. Though he's too fucking impatient to let me really USE any of my tricks."

*Oh, Danny.* Connor marveled. *The mouse has turned and is biting the cat in the ass.*

Andrew was puce now. "Danny! You're being an ass..."

Daniel threw up his hands. "WHOOPS! Boy, lot of Freudian slips tonight, Uncle Andy! He likes my ass just as much as he likes my mouth. Of course he's JUST as FUCKING insensitive... I mean, it's WASTED on him. The only time the man tries to make it last is if he's sure he's causing me enough discomfort."

"DANIEL!"

But Daniel was beyond stopping now. All the loneliness, humiliation, and physical and psychic pain had finally come to a head. He'd been trying to numb his feeling for so long, telling himself that it was the price he paid for survival. Now the beautiful, sweet man across the table, watching him with those shining green eyes, had showed him a little of what life could be like. Everything he'd been keeping bottled up just came gushing out, like the poison when you lance a festering wound.

All three men were ignoring the little socialite in the red dress, who satin stunned silence, imagining the stories she was going to be able to tell later.

Daniel looked across at Connor. "Do you know what he does when he's awayfrom me for more than a few hours, and gets suspicious about whether or not I've been fucking around? He CHECKS!" He spat the last word out, as if it left a foul taste in his mouth. "Hard, and without lube. Of course, sometimes Danny gets a little torn up when he does that," Connor was gripping handfuls of the tablecloth. If Yarborough hadn't been so intent on the scene his lover was making, perhaps he would have realized the rising danger. "But that doesn't matter, does it? After all, Danny's nothing but a well compensated whore."

"And not even a good one," Andrew grated. "A good one keeps his mouth SHUT!"

Daniel's voice rose. Now he was flushed also. *God, what a cliche,* Connor thought, *But he's beautiful when he's angry.* "Yeah, well a good one would get combat pay for dealing with a john like you!" He looked back to Connor. "You know, he wouldn't use a riding crop on one of his precious fillies, but ME? He drew BLOOD. All because I let the pizza delivery guy in. It was a fucking FLOOD outside, and the guy delivered, and I just wanted to give him a cup of coffee before he went back out in the deluge! But one of the neighbors saw him come in, and Uncle Andy figured that if I had a man inside my place, then there had to be some fucking going on SOMEWHERE..."

"I... maybe I should... I have to go..." June, not a stupid woman, even if she WAS a bit unperceptive, left hurriedly. That was all right. Danny hadn't been talking to her, anyway. Other patrons had been looking, and now the bar staff was noticing, too. The bartender whispered to the waitress to go find that lazy cabron and get him in here to do his job.

"Of course what's just SO unfair is that he doesn't hold the same standards for his wife as he does for his piece on the side. Oh, yes, he's married. Nice woman, actually. She deserves better, so she's GETTING it. THAT doesn't seem to bother old Andrew. I guess since she's past childbearing, and he doesn't have to worry about his bloodline being questioned. I say good for her. She deserves a little happiness--she's put up with him longer than I have. Daddy, did you know that Mommy offered a little to Sonny boy once? It was at the Christmas party just after you acquired me. Of course, she was drunk on her ass, and hadn't worked up enough courage to go find someone else, and, bless her, she really didn't KNOW I was your new fuck toy right then..."

"ENOUGH!"

Andrew lunged at Daniel, knocking him out of his seat, finally driven beyond his limits. As he hit the floor, with Andrew on top of him, and his hands around his throat, starting to squeeze, Daniel thought *Oh, dear. Well, I've really done it now. He's going to kill me.*

And perhaps Andrew might have. Oh, he didn't consciously INTEND to. He wasn't really capable of that much organized thought right then. He just wanted to shut Daniel up. If he could do that without killing him, then he could drag him back to the room, beat him so hard he'd feel it for a month, and then fuck him senseless in punishment. But Daniel might very well have died in the process. Daniel knew this, even if Andrew didn't.

But it wasn't fated. Daniel felt the familiar crushing weight lifted off of him. The hands were torn from around his throat, already tender from Andrew's assault the day before, and he drew in great, whooping gasps of air. In just that brief span, his vision had started to cloud. While he was doing this, the noises started.

He shook away the last of the frightening haze and sat up. There was pandemonium going on around him. He seemed to be the most peaceful person in the room. Guests were fleeing shrieking in either indignity or terror. This sort of thing was NOT supposed to happen at an exclusive, premium resort! But, much clearer than the other patrons' cries, he heard the heavy, meaty sounds of fist meeting flesh.

Andrew was trying to fight back. But he was a middle aged member of the American moneyed class, and he didn't stand a chance against an enraged Irish street fighter. He got in a couple of glancing blows, but Connor paid them no more mind than if Andrew had been giving him affectionate pats. He pummeled the older man mercilessly, driving blow after blow into his gut and ribs. He threw one solid punch to his chest that might have stopped his heart if he'd been a weaker man.

Connor Galbraith in a fighting frenzy was impressive, and frightening. There were times when he could fight with cold calculation, but he was defending and avenging his chosen mate now, and he was vicious. Andrew's good sense overrode his anger and hurt pride. His survival instinct kickedin, and he began to try to escape rather than fight. But Connor wasn't allowing that. He intended to HAVE Andrew Yarborough.

And he fought in almost eerie silence. Most might have expected an Irish tough like Connor to make swearing a ritualistic part of his attack, but he was deadly focused, and didn't waste his breath.

When Yarborough finally collapsed, he started using his feet, driving them into the man's sides and against his head, wishing that he had the steel toed engineer boots that had served him so well in pub brawls. A rib snapped, then another.

"Con!"

Connor dropped, straddling his victim. Gripping a handful of Andrew's greying hair, he lifted his head and smashed his fist into it. He grinned fiercely when he heard the crunch of cartilage, and felt the hot gush of blood from the shattered nose. It felt so good that he did it again. Andagain. And again.

"CON!" Someone had hold of him, shaking him. He drew back for another punch, and his arm was seized. He looked back angrily...

Into Daniel's panicked face. And hesitated. His voice was shaky. "For you, Danny. For you."

"I know, Con. But you'll kill him."

"I want him dead."

"I know. But you can't. Please." Daniel could feel the tension in his lover, the tautness in that hard muscled arm, cocked back for another blow to the *pathetic* old man who lay helpless in his grip.

"Don't you WANT him dead, Danny? I'd do it for you."

Daniel bit his lip, staring at the man who had governed his life for the past five years, and made it a living hell. "No. Because then I'd lose you, Con." He stroked his lover's arm, and felt some of the tension ease out. "It's not because I want to keep him breathing. I've just found you. I don't want you in prison."

Slowly the arm lowered, though he still retained his grip in Yarborough's hair. He looked at Daniel intently. "You'll come with me, Danny." It was a statement. But then, his tone softer, more hesitant. "You WILL come with me?"

Daniel pressed his head to Connor's shoulder. "Yes, love."

The smile that broke over Connor's face was the antithesis of the feral grimace he'd worn during the fight. It was bright, and sweet, and innocent. He kissed Daniel's hair, rubbing his face briefly in the soft tresses. Then he turned his attention back to Yarborough.

"You're still conscious, Yarborough? Good. We need to be clear on some things. I'm taking Danny. No," he corrected himself. "He's leaving you, you shite."

Andrew's voice was thick, clogged. "...prison... bastard... fucking life..."

"Oh, I hardly think so. There are plenty of witnesses who saw you attack Danny first. I was just defending him. I suppose you could TRY to make trouble, but I'd be very..." he shook Andrew's head, and the man yelped in pain, "...VERY angry with you."

"And Andrew?" Daniel leaned over him. His eyes, so warm when they looked at Connor, were icy. "If you're thinking about making trouble later, or coming after me? Just imagine the kind of fodder this little incident would give Aunt Bettina's divorce attorneys. You never DID get a pre-nup agreement, did you? Oh, never mind "Jaws". THEY are the biggest fucking sharks in the legal sea. And if they asked nicely, I'd testify my ass off."

Connor released Yarborough, who dropped back limply. The dark haired man stood up, absently shaking his hand. Now that the adrenaline rush was fading, he knew he was going to suffer with the bruised and cut knuckles, but it had been worth it--nfinitely satisfying. He held out his hand to Daniel. With a sweet smile, Daniel took it, and stood up into an entirely different life.

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 19a

Author's notes: Roland (Rollie) Tyler is the special effects wizard from F/X and F/X2, played by Bryan Brown. Lovely Australian accent. I got the trick Rollie uses on Fox from the great make up effects artist, Tom Savini. His book, Grande Illusions, is highly recommended. I actually used this in a demonstration on make up in a college class. Pretty effective. The technique for making foam latex appliances is as accurate as my memory could make it, since I don't have the book any more and didn't have any luck locating explicit instructions on the net. But the 'wear-ever' fixative is, to my best knowledge, my own invention.

Magic

There was less than a week left of preparation before the mission proper started. Fox...wasn't exactly nervosa. Not exactly. But as it got closer, he realized more and more exactly what it was he was taking on.

He was learning about Olivero de la Montaña.

Olivero was in his mid to late thirties, no one was entirely sure exactly. Official records were not a priority among his people in Columbia. He was a mestizo, of mixed European and American Indian ancestry, but there was much more Indian in his blood.

Olivero's family had worked on a coffee plantation for generations, and he had been expected to do the same. But young Olivero was ambitious.

He looked around, and saw where the real money lay. He began cultivating small plots of cannabis in the jungle when he was in his mid teens, harvesting and selling the crop himself. With the money he made, he bought a little land, and was able to grow even more, and make even more money, and buy more land... Then he graduated to growing poppies instead of grass, and manufacturing the white powder that brought dreams...and great wealth. Other small entrepreneur...disappeared. And Olivero always seemed to acquire their holdings.

Before he was twenty, he didn't have to do the actual physical labor himself, but he still kept active in the bottom level running of his business. Now people worked for him. Mestizos left the coffee plantations owned by the pale men of European descent. The men who treated them as fools, or children. Olivero was one of their own, and did not treat anyone like a fool or a child unless they WERE one.

It sickened Mulder when he learned that children as young as six or seven worked for the drug lord. They toiled in the fields beside their parents, as poor rural children had since the beginning of time. The only difference now was that instead of coffee, bananas, or sugar, they helped produce cocaine.

Mulder slouched on the leather couch, leafing through photographs of Olivero. As usual, the M:I observation operatives had done an outstanding job. Most of the photos had obviously been taken with zoom lenses, but they were remarkably sharp.

Fox chose one photograph, and studied it. Olivero was a good looking man. His complexion was dark olive, and he was smooth skinned, as were most mestizos. His hair was even darker than Ethan's, a little coarse, and kept chopped off short. A marine drill sergeant would have found nothing to complain about in either his haircut, his posture, or his attitude. He looked seriously 'don't-fuck-with-me'.

The nose was a little long, with that straight from the brow look that reminded Mulder of Aztec temple carvings. It was balanced by a wide mouth, but thin lipped mouth. His high cheekbones seemed to lift up large eyes that were so black they looked almost purple.

He was a big man, too. The photo showed him standing in a doorway, and it didn't clear his head by much. Plus he nearly filled it, side to side. But even with his mass, there was something GRACEFUL about the man. Mulder had the feeling that Olivero wasn't one of those big men who were slow and awkward. He remembered his nickname: The Jaguar. Yeah, he probably moved like a jungle cat.

The other photos were a lot more disturbing.

As an FBI agent, and especially working on the X Files, Mulder had seen more than his share of grisly crime scenes. It took a lot to turn his stomach. The photos did it.

There were ten of them. The victims were both male and female, and ranged in age from late teens to...old. It was hard to tell. Death did that to people. Especially violent death. Not all had been bloody, but all were violent. None of these people had died easily.

Mulder remembered Ethan telling him of how Olivero had acquired his nickname. He disposed of his enemies like the big cat killed it's prey. The jaguar, in the prey was small enough, would clamp it's massive jaws on the animal's throat and either suffocate it, or snap it's neck with a brisk shake of it's head. Montaña used his massive arms instead of his jaws, but achieved the same effect. One picture showed a young woman who might once have been pretty. Her head was lying over on her shoulder at an angle God had never intended for one of his higher creations to manage.

The second favored method of the jaguar was this: to hold the prey immobile, and kick with powerful hind legs, using razor sharp claws to disembowel the unfortunate beast. Montaña favored a large single blade knife for this task. He usually opened up his victims from side to side AND from crotch to sternum. Mulder covered his mouth as he looked at the photos. Thank god they were in black and white. It made them almost abstract. Color, and he would have been rushing for the bathroom.

Ethan came back from checking the mail (nothing today, for a wonder). He paused near the doorway, watching Mulder as he studied Montaña's handiwork. The FBI agent's smooth forehead was creased, and he was worrying at that full lower lip. Ethan had seen the photos himself, and could imagine Mulder's reaction to them.

He almost hated exposing Fox to such things *and precisely where the HELL had THAT little piece of protectiveness popped up from?*, but Mulder had to be aware of what the man they would be dealing with was capable of. Pictures said more than the written or spoken word could, in this case. "Nasty."

Fox looked over at him. "Very." He was holding the photographs so hard that he was bending them.

Ethan walked over, took the photos from Mulder's hand, and ran them through the shredder. He watched as they were reduced to glossy strips, and behind him Mulder said, "I wish it was going to be that easy to get those images out of my head."

Hunt went and sat beside Mulder, waiting for his lover to say what was really on his mind. They hadn't been together long, but things developed quickly in this sort of tense environment. He could tell that Mulder had something he needed to say.

At last, not looking at Hunt, he said quietly, "How many?"

"We don't know for sure. Those, and at least ten more. It may be as many as...forty, forty-five, by his own hand. That's not counting the one's he's ordered, or the ones that were just a natural offshoot of his expansion."

Fox's hands were twisting in his lap, and he stared at them. "I know you said we were just going in to stop the partnership, and make sure Galbraith couldn't hook up with anyone else. But..." He trailed off.

"But?"

"I'm not feeling real politically correct right now, Hunt."

He wasn't going to come out and say it, probably COULDN'T say it, and Ethan liked that. It was too easy for some people to say that someone else just NEEDED to die. Ethan said slowly, "I never go into my mission INTENDING to kill someone. Like I told you, I'm not an assassin. But...sometimes things happen. Sometimes people die. We always try to be sure it's not one of us."

Fox digested this. So, Hunt would not seek to kill Montaña, but... But there would be no extraordinary efforts to AVOID killing him, either. Fox found he could live with that.

"We need to get your mind off that stuff. Unfortunately, what we're going to have to do today might not be the best way to do that."

"What are we doing today?"

"Well, I'M getting tattooed, and you..." he ran a finger lightly across Mulder's shoulder. "Are getting scarred."

**************************************************

The place was right on the edge, where gentrification was beginning to renew a seedier section of town. Lofts and warehouses were being converted into prime apartment space. The building they went to, though, looked as if it hadn't been given 'the treatment' yet. It was ragged.

Ethan pushed a buzzer at the front door. Almost immediately a window on the second floor flew open. A lean man with a craggy, handsome face leaned out. He was clad only in a towel wrapped around his hips. A SMALL towel, at that. When he saw Ethan, his face lit up with a wide grin. "Bugger me! Look who's here!" He had a thick Australian accent. A key hurtled down to them, and Hunt caught it neatly. "Get yer arse up here while I get dressed."

"No need to on our account." Ethan was answered by raucous laughter, as the man pulled back in and shut the window. As he unlocked the door, he explained, "We've worked together several times. These missions often call for drastic changes of appearance. And, he's my friend."

They entered a dim hallway, and went to a lift. As Fox reached to open the door, which had to be raised, Ethan said, "Maybe I should warn you about..."

Something large, hairy, and as ugly as a madman's nightmare, leaped at Mulder from the elevator, roaring. Mulder didn't scare easily, but the sheer shock drove him back into Ethan with a yell. He instinctively tried to sweep his lover behind him while he jerked his gun from it's shoulder holster.

"NO! MULDER, WAIT!"

He'd fired three shots before he realized that the THING wasn't advancing. It wasn't falling either. It was just sort of...hanging there.

"Fox, it's okay. Let me move."

Mulder found that he had Ethan behind his back, pinned between his own body and the wall. Eyeing the quiescent beast suspiciously, he moved enough to allow Hunt to slip free.

"I wasn't fast enough to warn you. Rollie always has a little surprise tucked around the entrance, to discouraged unannounced visitors."

"Well, I gotta say that it's a damn sight more effective than a fucking 'No Solicitors' sign." Mulder reholstered his gun, and edged toward the hulking figure. "What the fuck IS that?"

Hunt looked at the creature. "That's Fluffy."

"Fluffy."

"Yeah, from 'Campus After Dark'. Last time I was here it was the Gatorman from 'Bayou Beyond'."

Mulder peered more closely at it. He reached out gingerly and touched the snarling mouth. The gums exposed by black, wrinkled lips were plastic. The squinty red eyes were glass. "Son of a bitch. Yeah, I recognize 'im now. That movie bit the big one, but the special effects were good."

A voice floated down from above. "Thank you. Now get the hell up here."

The creature slowly moved back into the elevator, and Mulder saw now that it was mounted on a wheeled platform that ran along a short length of track. As they rode up, Fox said, "I'm not gonna have Frankenstein come after me when this thing opens up again, am I?"

"Probably not." Pause. "But I couldn't guarantee."

The other man was waiting for them in front of the elevator when it arrived. The second Ethan stepped out he was enveloped in a bear hug. "You bloody bastard! Months, it's been!"

Ethan slapped Rollie on the back before pulling away. "You know how it is. Things get hectic. Rollie, this is my partner in my latest venture: Fox Mulder. Fox, Roland Tyler, special effects maven."

They shook hands, "It's Rollie, mate, as this git bloody well knows. C'mon in and have a beer."

He led them deeper into the loft. Fox stared about in wonder. There were...THINGS...everywhere. What he prayed to God had to be a fake severed head was resting on a plate on a table. He was relieved when he recognized it as the blonde starlet who'd come to a grisly end in 'Cannibal Cafe'. A disembodied arm that looked something like it belonged to a hairy crab was on a work bench, it's end sprouting a nest of wires that was attached to an electronics board. As he watched, there was a click, a light flickered on the board, and the pincers slowly closed, then opened.

Tyler, reaching into the refrigerator, saw where his gaze was directed. "Just a little remote control time delay I'm playin' around with. Workin' nicely so far." He strolled back to Ethan and Fox with three beers, two of the bottles gripped comfortably in one large, capable looking hand. Passing them out, he cracked open his own, and lifted it to them. "Cheers."

Fox wandered over to look at a wall display of various life masks, sipping his beer. Ethan said, "You got the information on what we need?"

"Course I did. Last week. Been studyin' the bleedin' photos off and on the whole time. The tattoo won't be too hard. They traced down where he got it, an' sent examples of the artists work. I'll ve able to fake it with no problem." He grinned at Ethan. "Sure ya don't want to make it permanent. Y'd look sexier than ever with a tattoo."

"Not in my line, Rollie. It's easier to fake one on for awhile than to cover one up when it's not supposed to be there. How about what you need to do to Mulder?"

Rollie was eyeing Fox with open admiration. "Yeah...what ABOUT what I need to do to him?" Ethan poked him in the side, and he grinned. "Don't worry, mate. They sent along the photo they took of the lad when he got sliced up in the nick. Bleedin' shame, that was. How anyone could stand to mark somethin' that pretty I'll never know."

"Some people have no consideration for the rest of us. You'll be able to do it?" Tyler lowered the beer and gave Hunt a wounded look. "Sorry. Forget I said that. Force of habit. I KNOW you can do it."

"I should bleedin' well hope so."

Fox felt a presence behind him, and turned to find the tall Australian standing close. "These are fantastic. You've worked with a lot of famous people."

"Yeah, once I did my time on the crap productions. Some of 'em are real nits when it comes to co-operating, though. How about you, Mulder? Are you co-operative?"

Fox raised his eyebrows. There had been a definite suggestive hint in that tone. He glanced at Ethan, but the spy was just smiling at him. Apparently he was familiar with Rollie's style, and it didn't bother him to see his friend coming on to his lover. Fox wasn't sure if he was relieved, or disappointed. Rollie Tyler really WAS a sexy man. And Mulder was rather curious as to whether this thing with Ethan was unique, or an indicator of a leaning he hadn't recognized in himself. It would be interesting to find out. "That depends on who you talk to. My partner Dana, and my boss might not think so. Hunt hasn't had any complaints so far."

"Mm. Good to know." Rollie had set his beer down on the littered work table, and was idly sifting through the various items that littered it. There was an open box of single edged razor blades, probably used to trim ragged edges off of make up appliances. Fox watched as he extracted one and turned it over, flipping and rolling it through his fingers, as some magicians did with a coin. It was an oddly entrancing sight.

"I like someone who knows when to be still so I can do my job properly." Rollie stripped off the blade's protective cardboard band. Again he flipped it back and forth across his knuckles. Fox could feel the hair beginning to stand up on the back of his neck. What the fuck was he doing? He was going to slice the hell out of himself.

The blade ended up pinched firmly between thumb and forefinger in his right hand. Rollie pointed at Hunt, and Fox glanced at him briefly. "That one there. Good as gold. Sat for three hours once when I had to do a full mask."

Fox looked back at Rollie, and felt his insides clench as the saw the tip of the blade pressing down firmly against Rollie's left wrist. As he watched, the skin dimpled under the pressure. A bright bead of blood oozed up at the contact point. Then Tyler was slicing up the inside of his forearm, leaving a gory trail all the way up to the crook of his elbow.

Fox gaped in horror. He knew from his studies that THIS was the most effective way to commit suicide, if one was doing it by razor. Slashes ACROSS the wrists tended to clot. UP the forearm, and you could open up a vein so well that it would be difficult even for paramedic help to stop the flow. "Tyler...what the FUCK...?!" Grinning maniacally, the man lifted the dripping razor to his throat. "NO!"

Too late. He slashed, straight across. Blood sprayed, splattering a startled Ethan in the face. Reacting on instinct, like he had downstairs, Muldre quickly knocked the blade from Tyler's hand, and grabbed him, pressing his hands to the throat wound to try and staunch the flow, and Tyler was laughing...

LAUGHING.

And so was Ethan. And that blood felt WAY too cool. The special effects wizard's eyes sparkled. "Gotcha."

"You...you..."

Ethan had gotten a paper towel off a roll on the table and was wiping his face. "I usually say bastard."

"Yeah, that'll do. That was a fucking GAG?!"

"One of my best." He turned his palm toward Mulder. Now Fox saw the rubber squeeze syringe, rather like the kind used to give babies enemas, he held. The snout was still oozing red fluid.

"You found a way to improve the projection on that since the last time I saw you," Ethan said, tossing away the red smeared paper. "Before all you could manage was a drip effect."

Tyler nodded. "And I'm using a glycerine base on the blood instead of the old Karo type. You won't be all over sticky from it. When I was working on Alpine Attack, the bloody cold kept thickening it, so it wouldn't ooze properly. I mixed it with vodka, to keep is liquid. The actors who had to hold it in their mouths for the dribble out effects kept swallowing it instead of spitting it out like they were supposed to. Half the cast was pissed most of the shoot." He smiled at Mulder. "Not that I mind, mate, but can I have me throat back?"

Fox realized that he still had his hands on the other man's throat. "I'm not sure. I think maybe I should wring your neck."

"Oh, got ya a feisty one this time, Ethan. Just a joke, lad."

"He wouldn't tease you if he didn't like you, Fox. I knew him a week before he made me think he'd blown his brains out."

Tyler indicated a dark splotch on the wall. "Never have been able to get rid of that stain. Damn good thing I own this shack. I'd never get the deposit back, otherwise. Now," He gently disengaged Mulder's hands, but held on to his wrists.

"How did you do that?" Tyler's thumbs were stroking across the back of Fox's wrists. It was very distracting.

Rollie let him go, and picked up the razor blade from where it lay in a pool of 'gore'. He stroked it across Fox's hand. Fox could feel the cool pressure of metal, but it was dull. Tyler held the blade up for his inspection. "Look closely." Fox did. The tip was rounded, blunt. "I grind the edge off with a wetstone and sandpaper. Then I just glue it back in the cardboard safety strip, and it's good to go."

"Diabolical."

A wide smile. "Ain't I though? And well paid for it, too." He handed Mulder paper towels so he could clean his hands, and swabbed the red mess off his own throat.

"Your shirt is a mess."

Rollie plucked at it, peering down. "Yeah, well. I changed the coloring I use in it since then. It'll wash out, now. But it IS a bit groddy." He casually skinned the shirt off, dropping it on the table and exposing a seriously buff torso. "Right. I'd best get the latex mixing for your appliance."

Fox watched raptly as he set about mixing up the stuff he would use to form the scar appliance. He stirred together a powder base, and various liquids that were used to stabilize, gel, tint, and increase the flow of the finished liquid. Then the concoction went into a very large commercial blender to 'cream'.

"Right. Let's get the molds done while that finishes. Shirt off, Mulder." Fox looked to Ethan. Tyler sighed. "Don't be difficult, mate. I have to have a mold of the part I'm going to be working on to make a proper appliance. I COULD do it on Clyde," he gestured to a lifelike torso, "But it never looks as good, and you need the best."

Fox got out of his shirt, but held it up in front of him when Rollie approached with a cordless electric shaver. "What do you think you're going to do with that?"

Tyler grinned. "Well, mate, I didn't take you for the type who's into pain, but if you really WANT to have your body hair ripped out when I remove the plaster..." Fox scowled. "Just the area needed. If you're to have the full shave, I'll leave that to Ethan."

"Just around the shoulder, where you need it, Rollie." Ethan said. "I kinda like that little pelt he has."

Mulder blushed at the teasing, just a little uncomfortable that Ethan was being so open about their...well, he supposed it was a relationship. Of sorts. Rollie clicked the shaver on with his thumb, and gripped Fox's left shoulder. "Let's see...It was the right one the poor boy got marked up."

He touched the shaver to Mulder's skin, and began moving it, slowly mowing down the very few, light hairs that had crept up to that area, then stroking down his chest a few inches. Mulder shivered a little as the vibration of the shaver moved through his body. "Easy, boy. I won't be takin' off anythin' important."

Tyler clicked off the shaver and set it aside. "Let's see now." He passed a hand lingeringly over the shaved area. "Right. Smooth as a baby's bottom. Have a seat."

Fox sat, and watched as, this time, he mixed up molding plaster. Flirtatiousness gone now, Rollie smoothed a thick coating of petroleum jelly on the shaved spot, and laid a piece of fine cloth over it, taping down the edges. He then layered the plaster mixture on evenly. "Now. You just sit quiet like a good boy while that hardens. I'll start on Ethan's little decoration. Ethan, guess what articles of clothing YOU get to remove."

Hunt was already unbuckling his pants. "Yeah, right. Voyeur."

"Comes in handy in my line o' work." As Ethan stood there in his briefs, Rollie showed him a sketch. "That's what it will look like. Pretty tasteful, considering." The capital D and B were slightly gothic, but not overfly ornate. The entire tattoo was about three inches square.

Rollie had a special make-up chair, a padded contraption that could be folded into chair position, or stretched flat, like a massage table. It could also be raised or lowered, so the artist could work either standing or sitting. Ethan pulled off his briefs and stretched out on it, on his back.

Rollie pulled a chair and small work stand up beside him, sitting down. He picked up an unlabeled aluminum spray can and began shaking it. "You might want to shield John Thomas while I put the base on, Ethan."

Ethan covered his genitalia with his hands, and Rollie sprayed a fine, even mist on his hip. The spy grimaced, hissing, "Shit! That stuff is STILL frigid."

"Sorry, but I just haven't figured out a way to heat it yet. Baby. What would you do if I actually had to use a needle on you?"

"Probably break your neck if you tried." But Ethan lay still as Rollie taped a stencil to his hip, and mixed pigments on a pallette.

Tyler began to fill in the stencil, working the blue-black color on with a tiny brush. Ethan craned his head to watch him work. Rollie was meticulous, stroking the color on in swatches no bigger than a match head. He had his left elbow on Ethan's thigh, holding his 'work surface' steady.

As Mulder watched, Hunt's cock slowly began to thicken, without either man touching it. But Mulder could imagine the feathery, tickling touch on Ethan's hip, the warm weight of the Australian's arm across his leg, the complete CONCENTRATION Rollie had on the younger man. When the stencil was filled, Tyler sprayed it again. "There. That can settle while I get on to the next phase with your friend."

The plaster was carefully loosened, and pried away from Mulder. He winced, losing a hair or two despite the precautions. Tyler gave him a towel and some sort of cleaning solution. "Get all that off. I'll need a clean surface to work on when the appliance is done."

Fox cleaned up, watching as Rollie used the negative mold to make a positive one: one that would be a 3D representation of the area. That was set to dry also. Rollie turned off the mixer and dipped up a tiny bit of the latex, matching it against Fox's skin tone. "I can't get it exact without painting it. You can never get a realistic look if it's just all over one color. But I can do a little better than that. Needs a bit more pink." He added a couple of drops of pigment, and started the mixer again, then went back to work on Ethan.

*He's working on Ethan in more ways than one. That is growing into a really respectable boner.* Enough to make Mulder's mouth water, in fact.

Rollie began to whistle softly as he worked the tiny brush against Ethan's skin. The tune was familiar, but Fox didn't recognize it till the special effects man started to sing under his breath. "Tie me kangaroo down, sport. Tie me kangaroo down. Don' let him go runnin' round, sport. Tie me kangaroo down."

Ethan's voice was husky. "I got your kangaroo, right here, Aussie." Rollie grinned, and wiggled the brush at him. "You tickle me where you shouldn't with that damn brush, and I go upside your head."

"Nah. I'm finished with the brush, anyway." He dropped it on the table. "But what about..." Still grinning, he reached out and ran one fingertip the length of Ethan's cock, root to tip, and slowly spread the first drizzle of pre-cum over the glans. "...this?"

Ethan's eyes half closed. "I'm all right with that."

Rollie continued the gentle, circling touch, and Hunt sighed. His cock was stiffening quickly, almost fully erect now, and the crystal liquid dribbled slowly down the side. Tyler looked over at Fox, gauging his expression. "YOU all right with this, mate?"

"Should I leave the room?"

Ethan leaned up on one elbow, fixing him with his eyes. "No. Stay."

Fox hesitated. "Yeah. I'm okay with it." *It's not as if we've sworn eternal devotion to each other, is it? We're NOT Connor and Daniel, no matter how much we resemble them. Why should it bother me if Ethan has a good time with him?*

But it DID bother him, at least a little.

Either he wasn't as good at hiding his emotions as he thought, or Rollie Tyler was a keenly observant man. Still stoking Ethan with one hand, he beckoned to Fox with the other. "Come here."

Fox hesitated. But Ethan was watching him with that hot gaze... He got up and walked over to the table, standing next to it.

Rollie turned a little, so that he was facing Fox. Stopping his petting of Ethan for a moment, he took hold of Mulder's hips. His grip was undemanding, but firm. "I think your boy is feeling a bit neglected, Ethan. I don't blame him. Mind if I unruffle his feathers a bit?"

"Not if he doesn't have any objections." Ethan began to stroke himself lazily.

"Let's see if he does." Rollie pulled Mulder toward him, and nuzzled his crotch.

Mulder could feel his hot, damp breath through the layers of his clothing, and shivered. *What IS it with me? A couple of weeks ago, to the best of my knowledge, I hadn't thought twice about sex with another man. Now I seem to be turning into a slut. I didn't DO anything until...until after the first time...I was Daniel. Did that make it easier, if it wasn't really ME doing it?*

But as Rollie Tyler started to unbuckle his belt, he knew that he was grasping at reasons. It hadn't been because he was 'being' Daniel. Hell, he'd ASKED Hunt if it was Fox or Daniel he was seducing, and Hunt had answered without hesitation that it was Mulder he wanted.

But this was the sort of thing Daniel Ballard would do. Was it the sort of thing Fox Mulder would do? Rollie had lowered Mulder's zipper, and eased his prick out. It was hard. "Ah, that's lovely." Rollie breathed. He licked the tip, then slowly took it into his mouth, sucking, as he opened his own pants.

Fox closed his eyes, surrendering to the wet heat. It wasn't as good as it had been with Ethan that first time. He was realistic enough to admit that he'd been unconsciously looking forward to that incident for so long that most others were going to pale beside it. But still, this was good.

He felt a tug on his arm, and opened his eyes. Ethan was half sitting up. He held Mulder's arm with one hand, and his own cock with the other. "Baby?" His hand slid over, gripping Mulder's shirt, and he began to pull him down. "Please."

Mulder bent, and took Ethan Hunt's cock between his lips. Ethan slumped back, sighing, and began to thrust lightly up into his mouth. He ran his hands caressingly through Mulder's hair as his head bobbed up and down. Then he reached out and stroked Rollie's head, in thanks for what he was doing for his lover.

By lifting a little, Ethan managed to reach Mulder's chest, and he played with the older man's nipples while he gave him head. Ethan worked until the little buds were swollen to aching perfecting, and his lover was groaning around Ethan's swollen flesh.

Fox was feeling overwhelmed by pleasure. A mouth on his cock, a cock in his mouth... What else could there possibly be? In answer to himself, he reached around behind, and began to run his fingers up and down the crease of his ass.

Ethan saw, and felt his pulse quicken. Mulder could fuck, he had no doubt of that, but he had strong bottoming instincts. He was instinctively craving a cock in his ass. "Do yourself." It wasn't quite a command, but it wasn't merely a suggestion, either. "Do it. Finger yourself. You want it, Fox. You know you do."

With another muffled groan, Mulder worked a finger up his tight back passage. He winced a little, but didn't stop. He began to move it in and out. Immediately his cock felt even harder. Rollie had pulled back, and was flicking the head with his tongue. Mulder sucked hard at Ethan, and rammed a second finger into himself. Almost, almost...

Rollie grunted, cumming in a great white burst. The second his hand was coated with spunk, he smeared it over Mulder's quivering prick, and took it into his mouth again.

Fox jerked off of Ethan's hard on, crying out as his balls clenched, and he orgasmed, spilling his seed down Rollie Tyler's throat. Ethan clutched himself, and came with two almost vicious, efficient strokes, his handsome face contorting.

All three men were quiet, panting. Fox leaned heavily against the table, half lying across Ethan. When he got his breath back, Rollie said, "Well, not quite a triple simultaneous orgasm, but fucking close enough for government work."

He had plenty of clean cloths around for his work, and hands some off to the two other men. After cleaning himself, he checked the latex, and decided that it was ready. He carefully scraped, carved, and sanded the plaster of the positive mold till there was a long, narrow, shallow jagged groove, no more than an eight of an inch wide, that ran on the lower part of the shoulder from the collarbone to the arm.

"The latex will settle into that, and it will be slightly sunken on the appliance, like an old scar would. I'll attach the section, then paint it to match your skin tone, then fix it in place. The stuff we use will hold through sweat, water, heat, and cold. It won't come off till you remove it with a special solvent. My own invention."

"That should make you rich."

Rollie barked with laughter. "Are you kiddin' mate? They don't want stuff to stay on too firm in the movie business. The union would never have it. They do too much business doing repairs." He injected the latex into the mold, using what looked like a very large caulking gun.

"You can take off that stencil, mate. Give y'self a last squirt of the fixer. And now skimping!" Ethan grumbled, but did as he was told, again wincing at the cold. "And that's all we can do for now. It'll need to set, then cure for a few hours in a low oven. I'll want to do several of them. I don't anticipate any trouble with it, but...Well, never hurts to be sure, does it? You two can come back t'morrow, and I'll do the final fitting."

As they were getting ready to leave, Rollie handed Mulder a couple of large, dark red capsules. "What are these?"

"Souvenirs. You remember the vodka blood I was talking about? That's some of the dribble capsules I saved. Hang on to 'em. Terrific for practical jokes. Or..." he smiled. "Well, if ya ever REALLY need a bloody drink..."

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 19b

Rio

Connor, knuckles bruised and bleeding, helped Daniel to his feet. His lips twisting, he spared a look at the man who'd curled into a fetal position on the floor. "I wish you'd let me kill him."

"Please, Connor. Don't bother with him any more." Daniel tugged him away, toward the front of the bar. "We need to go. He's friends with the management. They could make trouble."

As they left, the Irishman grumbled, "I just hope I don't regret this later."

Daniel said meekly, "I'll try to make you happy, Con."

Galbraith paused, sighing. "Oh, love." He touched Daniel's face gently. "I didn't mean about you. I meant not killin' that shite when I had the chance. You've a soft side to you, Danny. I love ya for it, but it might not be practical. Now, we need to get your papers. Are they in your room, or the hotel safe?"

"The room."

"Good. Me safecrackin' skills aren't what they could be."

In the elevator up to Daniel's floor, Connor took him in his arms, kissing him hard. When he let him up for air, Con said, "I'll be doin' that to you a good bit, Danny. And in public, too. I don't hide my love."

Daniel rested his head briefly on Connor's shoulder. "It'll be nice to have someone who doesn't alternately flaunt me and pretend I don't exist."

"Flaunt, I may. Ignore? Never."

Outside the room, Daniel looked to Connor in dismay. "Con! Andy has the key."

"Darlin', a simple locked door isn't all that much of a problem. Though..." He lifted his leg and kicked the door in with two powerful blows. "...it would be a bit easier if I had me boots. Just your papers, love. I don't want you havin' anything that bastard paid for with you."

Daniel got his wallet and passport quickly. He tossed a last venomous glance around the room, and hissed, "I just wish I had time to burn all his clothes."

Connor laughed. "Bit of the cat in you, ain't there, love? I'll have to remember that. Come on, now."

Connor himself seldom unpacked when he went anywhere, a very useful habit for someone who often had to move quickly. Basically all he had to do was throw a couple of items in his suitcase and latch it, and they were off. The cab at the front door had been called for someone else, but the cabby saw the reason of a fifty dollar bill, and was happy to drive them to the airport.

By the time Andrew Yarborough was having his ribs taped, and sullenly telling a disbelieving policeman that no, he didn't have any idea WHO his assailant was, they were studying the departure board.

A flight for Ireland was leaving in less than an hour. "Well, now, Danny. You've heard of the luck of the Irish, eh? Here you see proof."

"Good God, Con. You're not going to be able to get seats on it at this late date."

"Won't I?" Connor walked over to where the passengers were waiting to board. "Excuse me. I was wonderin' if any of you fine people might be willin' to postpone your flight till tomorrow, and let me and my friend reimburse you for your tickets." Blank stares. Connor smiled at Daniel, then turned back to the small crowd. "Of course, I forgot to mention that I'm willin' to pay a bonus of two hundred dollars for each." People started whispering and digging in purses and pockets. "You see, Danny? Luck of the Irish, with a wee bit of a boost."

An hour later they were seated side by side in second class. Connor had tried to hold out for first, but Daniel had insisted that they HAD to sit together, and they just weren't offered two together in first.

Connor stroked his arm as the plane took off. "This is the last time, Danny. The last time you have less than first class."

"I don't mind, Con. It's all right, since I'm with you."

"But you SHOULD have the best, love. And I'm going to see to it. You'll never regret comin' with me, Daniel. I swear it. Now then..." Connor signaled the stewardess. "Could we be havin' a pillow and a blanket, please?"

"I wouldn't have thought you'd be sleepy, what with all that adrenaline." Daniel was just the tiniest bit disappointed that Connor would rather sleep than sit up with him.

"Oh, it's not for me." The stewardess brought them the items. Connor said, "Put your seat back, Danny."

"But Con..."

"No nonsense, lad." Connor's voice was firm, and Daniel found himself obeying, reclining the airline seat. Connor slipped the pillow under his head, then spread the blanket over him. "Flyin' tires you out, so you'll have a wee nap now."

"But...how did you...?" Daniel's confusion melted as he gazed at his new lover. "From the lobby. You remembered."

Connor nodded. "Aye. And I'll have to see you take care of yourself from now on, Danny." He leaned over, smoothing Daniel's hair off his forehead, and whispered. "You're mine now, and I must be careful of you." He planted a kiss on the corner of Daniel's mouth, where it was just beginning to curve up in a little smile. "Sleep now." His voice thickened a little. "I can't say how much sleep I'll be lettin' you have in the future."

Daniel snuggled down under the blanket. For the first time since his early days with the sweet old thing he'd been with before Andrew, he slept peacefully, looking forward to awakening. Connor slipped on his headphones, and found some quiet music. He turned off the light over their seat, and sat in the dimness, watching his lover sleep.

He dozed at some point. When he awoke, most of the plane was in darkness, the majority of the passengers trying to sleep. Daniel, still lying in the reclined seat, was watching him with dreamy eyes. "Lay down with me, Con, " he murmured.

Connor reclined his own seat. Danny whispered, "In first class, the arm will come down. I wonder..." Connor examined the arm between their seats, and found a little lever. When he moved it, he could push the arm down and out of the way. Daniel immediately spread the blanket over him also.

He moved the thin little airline pillow over and said, "We can share."

"That's a small pillow, Danny. We'd have to be very close to share that." Daniel nodded solemnly. Connor moved close, closer, turning toward him, and laid his head on the pillow beside Daniel's. Their faces were only an inch or so apart.

Daniel closed the inch, and kissed him softly. Connor sighed happily, sliding his tongue out to tease at the firm lips pressing to his own.

He felt Daniel's hands, under the blanket, moving over his side, then down to his chest. His shirt was thin silk, and Danny easily found the beginning thrust of his nipples and pinched, bringing them to fullness. Connor moaned, licking between Daniel's slightly parted lips, meeting his tongue.

Daniel's hands slid down Connor's torso, scratching lightly at his belly, and began to drag the shirt tail from his waistband. "Danny, love, what are you doin'?"

"I need to touch you. I need to feel your skin." His hands slipped up under the shirt, fingers dancing over the suddenly shivering flesh of his abdomen. Then Connor felt his belt being loosened, and his zipperlowered.

"Jesus, Danny. You can't be doin' this." But Connor didn't move to stop him, because by now a warm hand had slipped inside his pants and was feeling for the comfort slit of his jockeys.

"Why can't I? No one will see. And if you're quiet, no one will hear."

Connor sighed as Daniel eased his cock out, and began rubbing his thumb over it's head. "Just a little, then, sweetheart."

"No, Con." Daniel said sweetly. "I need it all." He burrowed under the blanket, curving his body down. Connor gasped, clutching at his back as a wet velvet tongue caressed the spot his hand had just left, gathering up the slickness that the thumb had spread.

"Boy!"

He felt the vibrations of Daniel's quiet voice against his prick. "In medievil times it was said that man lived by meat and drink. Well, I tasted you this afternoon, Con. Tasted. But I didn't have my meat and drink, and I'm so hungry."

Connor pressed his face hard into the pillow as he was slowly swallowed by moist heat. "Danny," he whispered. "Oh, God, Danny..."

Daniel finally had someone who would appreciate his skills and imagination, and he lavished on Connor Galbraith every bit of attention and affection he'd been storing up for years. Licks, nibbles, sucks, grazes... A dozen different techniques. It was the most skilled head Connor had ever received, and he was far from a virgin.

And just when he thought he would go mad with frustrated tension, and have to hold Daniel still and fuck his mouth, Danny settled down and gave him a steady, strong blow job, sucking and bobbing in a satisfying rhythm that had Connor arching to meet him.

When he finally came, he had to sink his teeth into his own palm to keep from screaming. As it was, a high pitched whine escaped him, causing several passengers to look around curiously. All they saw was a rather pale faced young man, covered to his chin in a blanket, his expression just going lax. Poor man, more than one thought. Must not be used to flying.

Connor fondled Daniel's head as his lover slowly licked him clean, collecting ever drop of sperm that had somehow dribbled out when he tried to swallow all of Connor's spunk. He'd ALMOST done it. But Connor had jerked so at the last moment, that he'd almost lost it.

At last Daniel sat up. He emerged from under the blanket flushed of face and tousled of hair. His mouth looked blurred, and was a little slick. Connor kissed him, licking the thin film of his own cream off Daniel's lips. He whispered, "No need to try and kill me now, Danny. I haven't signed over the insurance yet."

Danny chuckled sleepily, curled up beside Connor with his hand cradling Galbraith's still naked prick under the blanket, and drifted off to sleep again.

It was dawn when they arrived. Connor bundled a yawning Daniel into a cab. The two men cuddled in the back seat on the ride to Connor's flat. The cabbie, who had been driving a hack for near on twenty years, scarcely glanced back. The only thing he found remarkable about the pair was that they seemed to be so spectacularly pleased with each other. Well, good on 'em. There wasn't enough affection in the world, as far as he was concerned. And besides, happy people were better tippers.

He was proved right. Connor, in a fine mood, gave him a bill that was double what was on the meter, and told him to keep the change, and no, thank you, there was no need for him to help with the luggage, as there was only one bag.

In the flat, Daniel wandered through the rooms, examining his new home. "Is this where..." He was standing by the fireplace, his face turned away from Connor as he traced a finger over the marble mantle. "Is this where I'll stay, or will you put me somewhere else?"

The wistful doubt in his voice touched Connor. He went to Daniel, embracing him from behind, lifting on his toes a little to put his chin on the taller man's shoulder. "This is your home, Danny. OUR home. Did you think I would put you away somewhere, like the bastard did?"

Daniel sighed, running his hands lightly over Connor's arms where they embraced him. "Can I have a fire?"

Connor smiled, a little puzzled, but began to build a fire. It was a bit warm for that, but if it was what Daniel wanted... He soon had a good blaze flickering in the fireplace. "There. Is that what you were wantin'?"

Daniel nodded, and began to strip. Connor watched in amused satisfaction as Daniel threw each article of clothing into the flames. He only stopped him at the belt and shoes. "We'll just chuck 'em in the bin, eh, Danny? I know you'd rather they burned, but they'll stink the place up. Don't you want the stench of thatSOB out of your nostrils?" Connor finally opened a window and threw the offending items out into the street. Someone's husband later received a quite nice belt and shoes set for his birthday, and was very grateful, even if the shoes WERE a bit large.

Finally Daniel was naked. "That's it, Connor Galbraith. I come to you just as God made me. Well..." he smiled. "Slightly used."

"And I'll take you just as God made you, Daniel Ballard." They were in the bedroom. Connor pushed Daniel down gently on the bed. "And I WILL take you, m' love." He started to strip. "As often as I can."

As Daniel watched Connor undress, he put two fingers in his mouth, sucking them. Connor felt himself start to grow hard. While he was opening his pants, Daniel rolled on his side, cocking one knee, and probed his own anus, working the fingers in slowly. Connor's mouth went dry as he watched the beautiful man fingering himself, his face intent, preparing himself to make love.

He whispered. "You don't really know me, Con, but I've...I've been careful. I always used protection. That was the one thing I wouldn't give in on with Andrew. He beat me for it more than once, but he never got inside me without a rubber. I've... been tested. I'm clean. If you don't want to use one, you don't have to."

"Do you want me to, Danny?" Connor was nude now, his rigid hard on swaying against his belly.

"If it would be all right with you... I'd really like to feel you inside me, Con. You'd be the only one. You WILL be the only one. If you're not...worried."

"I'd like that, my love. Oh, I'd like that so much."

Connor got on the bed behind Daniel, spooning up behind him.He licked two of his own fingers, pushed Daniel's hand away, and inserted them where Daniel's hand had been. Daniel moaned, pushing back against him as Connor gently pumped the digits deeper, preparing him.

"Will this be enough, love?" Connor breathed in his ear. "I can go on a bit more, but I need to be inside you soon."

"Yes, Con, it's enough. Fuck me now. Please. I want you inside me so bad."

"Yes, sweetheart. Yes." Connor pushed his hips forward. The blunt head of his cock spread the relaxed ring of muscle, slipping inside. The men groaned in unison. Daniel shivered as the thick staff oozed deep inside him, filling him as Andrew never had; with gentleness and love.

When Connor was all the way inside, he wrapped his arms around his lover and just held him, feeling the enveloping heat. "Christ, Danny, you're so tight."

"I didn't realize..."

"What, love? What didn't you realize?" Connor shifted, beginning a long, lazy glide.

Daniel made an odd little whimper. Connor was beginning to discover that Danny was a vocal lover. "I didn't know... I felt so empty...till you filled me."

Connor bit his shoulder lightly, increasing the speed of his thrusts. He reached around Daniel and gripped his prick carefully in both hands, beginning to stroke. Soon Daniel was writhing sinuously, pushing back to meet his thrusts, then forward into his grip. All the while he made soft noises of pleasure and need. They drove Connor mad, and he was soon pounding steadily into his lover's body, unable to hold back.

Danny didn't want him to hold back. He breathed encouragements, begging him to go harder, faster, deeper. In a near frenzy of lust, Connor rolled Daniel onto his stomach, needing something solid to push against. He turned Daniel's face to the side, so he could breathe, and did his damnedest to fuck his lover through the mattress.

Daniel cried out, thrashing beneath him, and Connor felt his hands covered in hot, slick wetness. Now that Danny had reached his completion, Connor really let go. He grabbed his lover's hips and, with a low snarl, rammed him with short, hard jabs. He kept hitting Daniel's prostate. Even though he had cum, and would not be able to get hard again for a little while, the pleasure was intense.

He grunted and squirmed as Connor finally came, spewing a hot gush of semen deep inside him. It was a new sensation to Danny. He hadn't lied when he'd told Connor that he'd never had unprotected sex before. The sheer, raw intimacy of it was astounding. He cried out along with his lover as he felt the scalding pulse, as Connor Galbraith claimed him.

But Daniel hardly needed to be claimed. He'd already given himself to the Irishman: body, heart, and soul. This was merely the ritual that stated it more clearly than words.

When it was over, Connor lay sprawled on top of the larger man for a while, biting and sucking at the side of his neck while Daniel purred contentedly. He finally pulled free and dropped to lie beside him. Daniel immediately snuggled up under his arm and began stroking his nipples, keeping them taut.

"Danny," Connor sighed. "Love, you'll not be gettin' anything else for at least an hour or two. I'm not bleedin' Superman."

"You're not? Could have fooled me." He bit one tiny bud, drawing a good-natured groan, so he licked it in apology. Then he rested his head on Connor's chest. "How long do you intend to keep me naked?"

"Only for the first year or two." Connor chuckled as Daniel pinched his thigh. "I'll have one of my lads bring something over later. Then we can go shopping tomorrow. Would that suit you?"

"Yes."

They were silent for a time. Finally Connor said, "Danny?"

"Hm?"

"Danny boy, I'm not just keepin' you, you know."

"I know."

"You're going to be more than just my boy." Connor lifted Daniel's hand to his lips. "You're going to be my mate. If the fucking law would allow it, I'd marry you."

Danny tilted his head so that he could look up at Connor. He was smiling, but his eyes were soft and serious. "Ah, well, Connor. You know what you're getting into. Too bad my parents wouldn't meet you. My mother would die to arrange a big wedding. But then, I'm a sad disappointment to her." Connor started to frown, but Daniel's smile widened. "Oh, she never had the same problem with my choice of lovers that my father had. But she'd be absolutely devastated that I couldn't wear white."

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 20

Dublin, Two Years Before the Mission

"Danny, darlin', put on somethin' nice, but not snarky, eh?"

"Sure, Con. How about the navy blue set?"

"Lovely. Makes your eyes look like the sky after a rain."

"Are we going anywhere special?" Connor coughed. Daniel turned to him, shirt in hand, eyebrow raised. "Con?"

"It's time you met me family, Danny."

Daniel pursed his lips. "Oh. I see."

"No, I don't think you do, love."

Daniel turned away, keeping his face carefully neutral as he began to slip into the shirt. "It's all right. I won't embarrass you."

Connor came up behind him, slipping his arms around his waist. "Danny." Daniel ignored him, beginning to button the shirt. Connor gave him a little shake. "Danny! Don't be like that. It isn't what you're thinkin', I swear. I'd never be ashamed of you. And I'm not ashamed of THEM, but... Well, the people you're used to... I know a bit about the circles your Mum and Dad run in, and the Galbraiths... aren't of their set..."

Daniel turned in Connor's arms, putting his hands on his lover's cheeks. "Connor Galbraith," he scolded gently. "Are you accusing me of being a snob?"

Connor actually blushed. "No, not that. But..."

"In case you haven't noticed, my dear, I DON'T move in my parent's circles. Not often, anyway, and not for a long time. Anyway, I think the Galbraiths must be a better class of people." He kissed Connor softly, fingers working back into his dark hair. "After all, they produced you, didn't they?"

"Danny," Connor breathed. "Boy, are you sure there's no Irish in your blood? You sure as hell have enough blarney in your tongue for us to claim you."

"Oh, is THAT what it tastes like?" He licked Connor's upper lip.

Connor's voice was a little rough. "I can't say for sure. Give us a wee taste." Danny smiled, and obliged, slipping his tongue into his lover's mouth and bestowing shallow, delicate licks. Connor took hold of the back of his head, and sucked on the bit of warm, wiggling flesh. He let his hands drop to touch Daniel's waist on either side. Then he moved his hands inside the shirt. He nibbled Daniel's tongue while he slid his hands up his torso, finding his nipples. He smiled into the kiss when he found that they were already getting hard.

Daniel moaned softly, and pulled his head back. "I have to get dressed."

Connor stroked, pinching lightly, and his eyes closed. "Not yet, love. They'll not be expecting us till lunch time. The whole crew will be there to meet you."

Daniel gasped as Connor bent down and took one stiffened peak between his teeth, tugging. "Oh, that's it, Con. The WHOLE clan. No pressure."

"Well, my lover, if ya really feel stressed, we can do something about it." Connor's hands were working Daniel's belt, while he licked at the other nipple, bringing it to equal stiffness.

"Really, Con, we shouldn't." His protest was weak, as the other man manuevered him till his back was against the wall. "I... I'd have to take another shower."

"Not for this ya won't." Connor sank to his knees, pulling Daniel's trousers down off his hips. Daniel was wearing cream silk boxers, one's that Connor had bought for him days before. Connor bit his lip when he saw the tumescent cock pressing against the thin fabric. A damp patch was already showing at the tip. "Oh, love, you need that taken care of, really you do. I think I can make the swelling go down, but..." He leaned forward and blew a hot breath over the straining mound. Daniel's head fell back against the wall with a thump. "I'm afraid it'll get worse before it gets better."

He pulled down the boxers, and wrapped his hand around the rapidly inflating prick. "Or is that better before it's better? Semantics, I suppose."

"You fucking silver tongued Irishman, stop blathering and suck me."

"You say the sweetest things, Danny boy." Connor licked the tip of the head, gathering a taste of the syrupy pre-seminal fluid, eliciting another moan. That made him smile again. Danny WOULD make his noises. He'd have to consider a bit of soundproofing for the flat, or the neighbors would start to complain.

But Daniel was right in that they didn't have all that much time. He would never dream of being late for one of his Mum's meals, if it could be helped. It just wasn't respectful. So this wasn't going to be one of the long, slow times, but there were enough of those these days. A bit of a knee trembler would be nice, too.

As he took Danny's glans between his lips, he reached down to unzip himself. He was just as hard as his lover. *God, I'll never tire of the man, never. If ever I do, it's off to the doctor to have me hormone levels checked.* He pulled his own rigid penis out into the open, and began to pump it while he sank down on the delicious cock invading his mouth.

Danny made a vibrating noise in the back of his throat as he was enveloped in the wet heat of Connor's mouth. "Oh, Con. You're so good to me. I just wish there was some way you could fuck me while you ate me. I'd die a happy man if I could have that, just once."

Connor released his cock. "Oh, you're not half greedy, are you? Believe me, love, if there were any way, you'd be filled right now." He licked Danny's rod again, running from his balls to the tip. "But there's only one of me, love. That'll have to be enough. Maybe I'll get you a little toy," His hand crept around, fingers seeking the crevice of Daniel's ass. "Then we can fill that needy hole when I suck you."

"Not the same, Con."

"I know, love. But you're not the only one deprived, now are you? I've got to make do with just one of you." He wormed the tip of his finger into Daniel's anus, causing the other man to sigh, and push back on it. "I have to make do."

Connor bent back to his task, taking Daniel back in with a deliberately lascivious slurping sound, feeling his lover react to the simple auditory stimulation. He began to give Danny, serious, dedicated fellatio, determined to make him come quickly. It wasn't long before Danny's hips were moving, pushing into his oral embrace with tiny thrusts.

Connor, who had learned the trick long ago, since he was always genuinely concerned about his lovers' pleasure, took Daniel down his throat, swallowing him completely. He hadn't done this before. He'd been sort of saving it, as a treat.

It was appreciated. Daniel cried out, hands slamming flat against the wall, grabbing for support. Connor jabbed hard, thrusting his finger deep, crooking it, and managed to touch his prostate. Daniel wailed helplessly, bucking between the invading finger and the enveloping mouth, and spilled his seed down Connor's throat. Connor swallowed quickly, the gulping making Danny's keening rise even higher, more desperate. Danny held desperately to the wall behind him as his legs grew weak. He gasped, "Oh, God! And you claim I'M trying to kill YOU for the insurance. I'm only twenty-seven, Connor. I'm too young to have a heart attack."

Connor let the softening cock slide out of his mouth, and moved his hand back to his crotch, finishing himself off as he licked his lover's genitals clean of the slight stickiness he'd left. He took the head back between his lips for a brief moment, closing his eyes as his own sperm spilled over his hand, his hips jerking. Then he released it with a sigh, bestowing a loving kiss on the damp pink flesh.

"Con, does come stain hardwood floors?"

"I don't think so, Danny love. It hasn't yet, but I'll wipe it up quickly. Now, finish dressing." He stood up, and fondled his mate's sable brown hair briefly, disarraying it even further than his head tossing had. "You always look edible, but ya have to be a bit spiffy to meet me Mum first time, all right?"

Daniel smiled, slipping off the shirt. "Then it'll have to be the black outfit. You got this shirt creased, you animal."

*************************************************

Connor glanced affectionately at the man in the passenger seat. Daniel was meticulously tweezing less than emerald green leaves out of the bouquet he'd picked up at the florist's. Connor had assured him that his mother wouldn't want anything but his presence, and he'd said patiently, "I believe you, Connor. But when you meet your fiance's parents, you bring something. That is, if you aren't a total boor."

"That you're not. But it took you a bleedin' hour in that shop, Danny. What on earth was the delay?"

"You could have come in with me."

"And left me Jag parked alone in THAT section? Not bleedin' likely. That's a jumble you've got there, too. I mean, they're pretty, but I'd have thought a great wad of carnations or roses would suit."

Daniel snorted. "For the parents of a casual fuck, yes. But not for YOUR family Connor." He turned the bouqet in his hands, admiring it. "I wanted to get them something that made a statement."

"And what does it say, Danny?"

"Not 'I'm a silly bugger', so you can get that smirk out of your tone, Connor." he warned. "Haven't you ever heard of the language of flowers?"

Connor thought. "Like a red rose for love?"

"The most blatant example, yes. But there used to be a whole floral VOCABULARY. You could tell stories with a well chosen bouquet. If you were mistaken in the type of flower you chose, you could break a heart instead of winning it."

"All right. And what are you saying to me folks?"

He sighed. "I just wish I'd had more warning, so I could have ordered. I had to make do with what they had in the shop." He started to point to various blossoms. "Fern, for honesty. Ivy with some lovely curly tendrils, meaning assiduous to please. Bluebells for kindness. A Calla Lilly for feminine beauty, delicacy, and modesty..."

Connor snorted. "Me mum will have a laughing fit over that one."

"Be nice. Carnation, for pure and deep love. A tea rose for always lovely..."

Connor was grinning. "Laying it on a bit thick, eh, Danny?"

"Connor, I'd have needed a wheelbarrow if they'd had all I wanted. These are just what was readily available. And yellow lemon Geraniums for an unexpected meeting..." He slapped Connor on the shoulder admonishingly. "...and gratitude."

"Gratitude?"

"For having had you. Where would I be if she'd stopped with the girls?"

"That's lovely, Danny. She'll like that. So." He glanced mischieviously at his lover. "If you had your choice what type of posey would you be sendin' me?"

Daniel smiled down into the bouquet. "Well, I can tell you first off what you WOULDN'T get. You wouldn't get Bachelors' Buttons."

"And why not?"

"Because they mean celibacy." Connor burst out laughing. "Nor acacia, because that means chastity, or chaste love. But I'd give you daffodils, for chivalry, and sweet William for gallantry. A scarlet lily, because you are high-souled. Corcopsis for sincerity, and more of the same for first love. Snowdrops or hawthorn for hope; mallow, because you are good and kind."

The smile was fading from Connor's face as he listened to Daniel's soft recitation, tenderness filling his eyes. "Gardenias for ecstacy, fern again for fascination, fleur-de-lis, to say I burn. And honeysuckle, for devoted love. And because I'm from the South, and I ADORE the way it smells." He said the last lightly, trying to hide a sudden shyness. It wasn't often he shared his feelings.

They'd stopped in front of a medium sized, neat brick house. Connor shut off the engine, and turned in his seat, to look at him. "Danny, I..." He bit his lip. "Shite. We Irish are supposed to be smooth talkers, and I'm damned if I can think of a thing to say after that. Maybe a dumb show will work better."

He took hold of Daniel's shoulders, and pulled him close, claiming his mouth in a kiss that was both fierce and tender, speaking of passion not just of the moment, but a life long thing. Daniel could tell the difference. He'd had plenty of the first, but he'd never before encountered the second, never thought he would.

When Connor pulled back a second, Daniel murmured, "You know, you're pretty fucking eloquent without saying a word. Love you, Con."

"Love you, Danny boy."

They sat back. Daniel smiled. "All right, dear heart. Get ready to see some good, old fashioned Southern gentleman ass kissing, learned by kissing the asses of genuine old fashioned Southern gentlemen."

Connor burst out laughing again, and led his lover in to meet his eager to be charmed family.

  
Archived: December 31, 2001 


End file.
